Naïveté
by Mystical Underpants
Summary: Not everything has an explanation. Back things up with facts all you want, some things just happen. Reid comes face-to-face with the reality that sometimes logic can't be relied on, and that you have to follow your gut when life and love challenge you.
1. Chapter 1

_Every true genius is bound to be naïve. _

-Fiedrich Schiller

_Note: I do not own Criminal Minds and/or anything canon in the Criminal Minds universe. I do not claim this is perfectly edited, though I tried. Also, I do not claim to have an unending, vast knowledge of everything in the CM universe. If something about a character, the show, anything, is incorrect... sorry. I watch the show often, but I'm only human. Some things get lost in my head. Otherwise, enjoy!_

Spencer opened his eyes to something too familiar, yet not what he had last seen. A leering face was all he could see, but he could hear laughter behind the face.

"Andy," he squeaked, though his voice wasn't the same. It was higher, more child-like than he last heard it, even in his own head. "What's going on?"

The face before him – Andrew Presley – pulled away, and his full figure came into view. He was tall and tanned, with short blonde hair and blue eyes. He wore the jersey of his football team, the Rancho High School Rams. Behind him, Spencer could see members of the football team, all laughing. Others were beginning to crowd around, though not everyone was laughing.

Confused, Spencer looked down. To his horror, he found himself naked, with a rope securing him to a pole. Tears welled up in his eyes as he realized what was going on. "What are you doing?"

Andy didn't answer. Nobody did. They just stood there, either watching in silent horror, or laughing at the humiliation of a 12-year-old high school student.

Closing his eyes, the laughter suddenly ended. Instead of cruel high-school students, he woke to a soft face, soft and oval-shaped. Her brows were knit together in unease. "You okay?" She asked, her voice the only sound other than the soft hum of the air conditioner.

He was in a café. The girl was dressed in a Starbucks uniform, her apron dangling from her neck. She was very obviously ready to lock up, but he had yet to leave.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he mumbled, realizing he had fallen asleep whilst studying for exams. Not that he needed to, as he had memorized each textbook, but it was a good past-time.

"Not from the way your face was all screwed up. Looked like you were having a nightmare."

"Oh…" He couldn't seem to find words to explain the situation, which was quite weird, considering he always had something to say. "Sorry."

"It's fine."

"How long have I been asleep?"

"You feel asleep about an hour and a half ago." She sat down across from him, releasing her hair from the confines of a blue hair band. "I let you be since there weren't that many people coming through and it looked like you were having a bad day."

Spencer found it weird that he had fallen asleep. Never before had he dozed off in a public place, a Starbucks no less. It was kind of ironic.

"Studying for finals?" She asked, running a finger over the title of his textbook.

"Yes." He kept his answer short, mostly because he was embarrassed.

The girl pursed her lips, appearing confused. "What high school do you go to? I've never seen that book before."

"I go to CalTech."

This she could not believe. One fine eyebrow raised, a smirk playing across her face. "No way. You're, like, what? Seventeen?"

"Sixteen, actually." He moved to hide the book away in his backpack, but ended up knocking it off the table entirely. He was still a bit shaky from the dream. That memory played itself in dream forms every now and then, though he repressed it by satisfying himself in the notion that he was finishing up several doctorate degrees while the thuggish teenagers that had humiliated him were barely out of high school.

Bending over to pick it up for him, the girl noticed his socks, and again he managed to entertain her. "Diggin' the socks." Every now and again she found herself grabbing a pair of mismatched socks, but usually they could pass for mates. He apparently had no such luxury that day, as one was red and green, while the other was a bright purple.

But he ignored the comment and stood up. "Thank you for waking me up, but I really have to go." Judging by how low the sun was setting over the horizon, he deducted that it was around eight thirty.

"Okay, well see you. Have fun with your, uh… chemistry."

He began turning to leave, but stopped to get a good look at her. She was about his age, and Hispanic. She wore a relaxed expression on her face, and though at first it didn't seem that she believed he went to CalTech, the way he was acting seemed to persuade her. Apparently in her mind, all 16-year-old CalTech graduate students are awkward around a stranger, which wasn't entirely untrue in Spencer's case, despite his efforts at a social life.

"I'm Spencer, by the way." He reached out a hand.

"Angie," she responded, standing and shaking his outstretched hand.

&&&&

"I don't think so," Morgan responded, taking his coffee from the barista with a slight nod of thanks.

Spencer leaned against the wall behind his chair, his elbows resting casually on the armrests. "It's true."

"It's a television show, Reid. A _television_ show. There's no way Star Trek is at all accurate."

"I find it amusing that you doubt me only when it comes to television, but if you ask for a statistic, it doesn't matter if I make it up off the top of my head. You'll still believe me."

"That's because you're too smart for your own good."

"You don't make any sense."

"Neither do you, my friend." Morgan grinned across the small café table, his hands wrapped around his coffee cup.

Spencer leaned his head against the bricks behind him, closing his eyes, a gentle smile still on his face. The two co-workers had only just returned from a case, and jet lag was taking its toll. Since the coffee shop wasn't too far from the office, as soon as they were allowed to leave, the two decided to grab a mocha or two before heading home.

"So," Morgan began, his grin widening the way it does when he teases the young Dr. Reid. "Any girls in the picture right now?"

It seemed that no longer how many years Spencer worked with Derek Morgan, the topic of girls always came up. Usually it was to tease, because of all the facts and details Spencer would give at work, his love life was never mentioned. Plus it was a well known fact that Morgan had no trouble getting a date when he wanted one, while Spencer rarely had the courage or opportunity to ask a girl out. Not that he really thought about it. Spencer found it tiring to be interested in a woman, and he had enough to deal with at work.

"Must you always bring this up?" Spencer mumbled, sliding his hands behind his head.

"Must you never answer?"

"Yes."

"I won't take no for an answer."

"Technically, I never said no. I said yes."

Morgan was quite for a second, his grin replaced by fake irritation. He was actually enjoying this. Reid was quite easy to tease, despite his vast intelligence. "You never answered my first question, you just followed it with _another _question. We can go at this all day."

Spencer opened his eyes, but did not move. "Fine. There is not a girl in my life at this time. See? I didn't say no."

"Awe."

Though he knew Morgan was joking, the young FBI agent wasn't overjoyed to be discussing the topic.

"What about you? Any women in your life?" His tone was flat. He couldn't quite tell if he was truly annoyed by the conversation, or if the stress of a 2-hour flight was making him irritable.

"Nah, not right now. Just broke up with a girl last month. She wasn't really my type, but she was nice."

The tinkling bells above the café doors jingled. Spencer's eyes moved automatically to the door. Normally his brain would register a new face and move on, and he'd still be stuck listening to Morgan talk about the weird but nice girl he dated. This time, however, something was different. He ran into old friends every now and then, and sometimes he saw people on the street he'd only met once or twice, but rarely did it stir any emotions or curiosity. This time, however, things were different.

The woman that entered the café was of average height, with well-kept blonde curls hanging past her shoulders. It took Spencer no time to recognize her as the girl he'd met in the Starbucks when he was 16, except much about her had changed, as things do when people grow older. Her hair had been black, and she had been chubbier at the time. But it was definitely Angie.

"Hey, I know her," he said, interrupting Morgan's ramble about something, though he wasn't sure what it was. He had since veered off the topic of women.

Morgan looked over his shoulder at Angie as she approached the counter, and then returned his eyes to his co-worker. "And you said there are no women in your life."

"No, no, that's not what I meant. I know her from a long time ago… but I only met her once."

Again, Morgan looked over his shoulder. "So… meet her again."

Spencer made no move. He was more interested in the fact that this person stood out to him, despite how many people he had become acquainted with over his lifetime and randomly seen again on the street, than the fact that he knew her. Not only that, but the chances of seeing her again after so many years, on the other side of the country, no less, were significantly low. The power of the universe never ceased to amaze Spencer, even if he understood quite a bit of it.

The barista behind the counter was coming to the end of his shift, as was apparent by how quickly he was trying to get Angie's order ready. As she paid and walked to the side of the counter, where the drinks were handed over, her eyes grazed over Morgan and Reid. At first, they were just another pair of people, nobody to matter herself with. After a second gears shifted in her head, and Spencer's face popped up in her head. The guy she remembered was just as thin, but much younger and much less attractive. But no, it was definitely him… but blossomed.

"Do I know you?" She cocked her head to one side. Spencer detected an accent.

"Um, yeah, I think so." He stood from his chair, taking on the tone of voice and posture he used mostly when at work, detailing statistics and facts to profile an unsub. "We met in Pasadena a while back."

"Oh, yeah." She smiled, though it was awkward and uncertain. "Yeah, yeah. You were the college kid that fell asleep. The really young college kid."

Morgan watched silently, forgetting about the quickly cooling coffee in front of him. He'd never seen Spencer talk to a girl he wasn't interviewing or working with. It was quite entertaining. The question of why he even cared hit him, but he quickly and automatically answered himself. He liked Spencer… like a big brother likes his nerdy baby brother.

"Of course. I'm surprised you remember me."

She shrugged, turning to take her finished coffee. "I have a knack for faces, I guess. Funny running into you here… in DC. What are the odds of that?"

Spencer opened his mouth to answer the question, but Morgan found his opportunity to edge his way into the conversation. "Pretty slim, I'd imagine," he said, abandoning his coffee and standing up. "I'm Derek Morgan. And you are?"

"Angie Martinez. Are you two… friends?" It was quite obvious of the implication of _friends_.

"You could say that. Reid and I work together."

"Oh, I see. Find yourself a nice genius academy to work at, Spencer?" She winked at him, teasing. He blushed, despite his attempts not to. This, of course, did not pass Morgan unnoticed.

"Hey, Reid, I'll see you at work, but I'm beat. Have fun." With practiced stealth, he silently exited, barely noticed.

"So how are you?" Angie asked, trying to break a long, awkward moment.

"Good, good. You?" Conversation was never something he was good at, unless he was thinking about something else. But even then, he was usually rambling without letting anybody in edgewise.

"Doing well, I guess. Just got a job out here, but mostly been living in El Paso. Did a lot of travel between the States and Mexico for a while, mostly because of family."

Ah, so that was the accent. He should have known that. Then again, he wasn't quite feeling himself. "That's nice." He sat down and motioned for her to join him, assuming it was the polite thing to do in that situation. "What job did you take?"

This time it was her turn to blush. She always thought it sounded weird in casual conversation, her new job title. It was the sort of thing most people raised an eyebrow at. Then again, this _was_ DC. She had to get used to that. "I'm working at NCIS now. I speak Arabic, which apparently is good on a resume."

Spencer smiled. "Well, given the current situation with the Middle-East, I would assume NCIS would have great need for someone with that particular talent."

"And you? What do you do now? CIA agent?" Angie winked, brushing a strand of curly hair out of her face.

"No, not quite. FBI."

"Oh, fancy. How are things over at the Bureau? Not quite as military based as my job, I'm going to assume. Trying to figure out what FDO and FOD mean, while remembering every other acronym the government can come up with isn't easy."

"Flight Deck Officer and Foreign Object Damage."

Angie blinked. "Well then. My terrible memory has been put to shame."

"Haha. Sorry. I, uh… I remember things easily."

"I assumed as much, given that you were in college at, like, sixteen."

"Yeah… graduated high school at 12."

"You're kidding?"

"Nope."

Something clicked in her head from a short while back. "What's your last name?"

"Reid."

Ah, so that was it. She remembered reading an article on him from quite a while back. "Oh, okay. I know who you are. They printed an article on you in my high school newspaper when I was a senior."

"And you said you had a bad memory."

"I lied. I remember a lot of things. It's the only reason I got through college. I don't actually _know_ half of what I learned, so much as I remembered how to do it. Take math, for example. Finals would come around, and I'd remember the formula, but it took some hardcore studying to actually figure out how to use it when the letters are replaced by numbers."

It was a weird conversation, and both knew it. For two people that had met only once before, they had a lot to talk about. Angie was intrigued by Dr. Reid, who was both incredibly intelligent and slightly socially awkward. It was kind of cute, really, the way he had an answer for everything. She would say something off-handedly, like "what are the odds of that?" and he would have an answer. "Statistically," he would say, "it's about twelve percent." She wasn't looking for an answer, but she suspected he usually replied similarly to most things.

Angie was spunky, Spencer found. She'd spent a lot of time traveling from work in El Paso to her grandmother, who lived in Mexico, but only about thirty minutes from the border. She was quite smart, really, though probably not above average intelligence. It didn't seem to matter, though, if she wasn't quite book-smart. She listened. That is, until something she knew about came up. Generally it was politics. The way he always had a fact ready, she had an opinion. She didn't try to pass as someone who knew more than they did, which Spencer admired. Many people he came across would spout facts with no basis in reality. He rarely had the spirit to correct them. Angie did no such thing. If she was wrong, she didn't mind being corrected.

Eventually they were kicked out. Like last time, they did not exchange numbers, or really even say goodbye. They just walked off, marveling at the way things worked. It didn't matter if statistics said one thing, or if faith said another. It was amazing to both of them how something so unlikely can happen, at the most convenient of times.


	2. Chapter 2

_Every tomorrow has two handles. We can take hold of it with the handle of anxiety or the handle of faith._

-Henry Ward Beecher

Each member of the BAU is trained to notice everything about another person. That's what makes them good profilers. So when Spencer showed up to work the next day, Morgan had already detailed for his colleagues the events of the night before. Everybody kind of looked upon Spencer as a kid brother, because in the BAU, each team member is part of the family.

"So," Garcia leaned against the wall as Spencer loaded his coffee up with sugar. "How was your night?"

Spencer clearly caught a wink, and let out a pronounced sigh. "Good. Fell asleep watching the History Channel. It's funny what comes on at midnight. Generally it's about the history of sex. Quite interesting, really. Not exactly a subject you learn about in school."

"Is that all?" Morgan snuck up behind the youngest member of their team.

"I hate to cut this moment of Reid torture short, but Hotch needs to see us." JJ called from across the office, papers clutched in her hands. She still glowed with that new-mother radiance, even though she wasn't quite over having to leave her baby alone.

The interruption was much appreciated for Spencer, who quickly hurried off to the conference room. Morgan followed closely, a wide grin still stuck to his face. Prentiss was not far behind, quite amused, as she'd heard the entire conversation. The day didn't begin if Morgan wasn't poking fun at somebody, or engaging in a friendly flirtation with Garcia.

"I have been on the phone with the Chief of Police in Chesapeake, Virginia." JJ stood in front of a large television screen, speaking only after each member of her team had sat down around the table. She sat a file in front of each member, dictating the latest crime they were to investigate. "Six days ago, Roberta Sisneros reported a rape to the police. She said after the man raped her, he attempted to kill her." Pictures of a Hispanic woman popped up on the screen behind her. Most of her skin was swollen and purple. "She is the third woman to be attacked with this MO within the last two months, and obviously the only one to survive."

JJ pointed the remote at the screen, clicked, and displayed four pictures. Two were of a woman half-buried beneath a tree; the other two were similar, except the unfortunate woman in these was buried in sand beneath a park swing.

"The first woman was 27-year-old Sofia Vega, the second 23-year-old Teresa Antonia. Each woman was attacked in a park at night, and left where she was murdered. Unfortunately, no DNA has been recovered from any of the crimes, and all forensic evidence was washed away by rain."

Hotch fidgeted with his pen in one hand, holding it between two fingers. His eyes squinted slightly as he looked at the pictures, absorbing the information of the case. "Each time?"

"Yes," JJ replied, folding her arms across her chest. "It rained either during the attack, or just after."

"The unsub is relying on rain to destroy any evidence." Prentiss looked through her file, holding one picture in each hand, closely studying the dead women. "He managed to kill the first two, but failed at killing the third."

"He used a kitchen knife to slit their wrists," Spencer began, leaning back in his chair, his copy of the police report in his hand. "He beat them badly enough that they couldn't move or cry for help, so they bled out. The rain would have only stimulated the outflow of blood. He didn't know the third victim was a martial arts student, which must be how she survived. She was used to beatings."

The conversation drew on as JJ continued to brief them on the subject. Morgan was the only person that did not speak, an action that Spencer did not fail to notice. But unlike the other members of the team, he did not take joy in butting into business that was not his own. Only if it seemed his problem was bad enough would the young genius ask about it. If his team members wished to speak to him, they would.

&&&&

Angie strode through the elevator and across the hall of cubicles and computers to her desk. She was a bit aloof due to the events of the night before. After all, it isn't often that you meet someone twice, once when you are sixteen, and once when you are 26, and then have an entertaining and insightful conversation with said person. This Dr. Spencer Reid was quite an odd fellow, and his intelligence was evident in every word he spoke. He was not, she gathered, a very social man, but she didn't mind.

Unfortunately, she did not manage to hide a smile from her co-workers. In fact, she wasn't even aware she was smiling until a certain overgrown Frat boy appeared at her side. "Who is it?"

Angie looked up to witness the quite disturbing death of a glazed donut as it was engulfed by Tony's mouth. "Who is what?"

"The smile."

"Smiles aren't people, Tony," she responded, pulling her mass of curls away from her face.

"Ah, yes, but your smile is due to a person. Trust me. I know smiles."

Anthony DiNozzo was quite the charming man, as she had discovered with she joined his team earlier that year. Even so, he was able to turn off his playful air when needed, and was quite the efficient NCIS Special Agent.

Fortunately for her, Angie never had to answer his question. Two more familiar faces showed up, one belonging to Ziva David, the other to Timothy McGee. "I'm sure if Angie has a reason to smile, she doesn't want to share it with you." Ziva tilted her head to one side, a playful twinkle in her eyes.

Tim took a seat at his desk, watching with a mixture of amusement and irritation. Angie looked over at him as Tony and Ziva began a friendly argument over whether or not Angie would tell why she was smiling. "How was your weekend?" She asked the geeky computer wiz. McGee was her favorite member of the team.

"Pretty good. Got a bit of writing done on my novel, but other than that I didn't do much."

"Sounds fun."

Each conversation was cut short as the head of the team, Leroy Jethro Gibbs, rounded the corner, his usual cup of coffee steaming in his hand. He was always very good at interrupting them when they were in the middle of something. "Petty Officer killed visiting family in Chesapeake, Virginia."

&&&&

The FBI wasted no time investigating crimes, especially if a serial killer was involved. As soon as the BAU arrived in Chesapeake, they went to work interviewing the families and friends of victims. And like the victims of most serial killers, they each ended up remarkably alike. They were all Hispanic, headed for success, and blonde. The living victim was, unfortunately, not very much help. Though she had seen the killer's face, she could not recall it for a sketch artist, and was too traumatized to give much information at all. All she could say was that she got off work late, and didn't want to miss out on her exercise, so decided to go to the park for a jog, since the gym was closed.

As their first day in the city came to an end, Spencer found it very hard to retire to his hotel room. Sleep was something that often eluded him, perhaps because of his job. Whatever the case, he often found himself up late, staring into nothing, or attempting to read a book slowly in order to make it last longer.

That day, however, there was nothing to read. The television in his room had cable, but unfortunately there was nothing on that interested him. Instead of waiting around to fall asleep, he ventured down to the hotel bar. Spencer was not one to drink often, especially since he was still recovering from his addiction, but there wasn't really anywhere else he could go. Chesapeake wasn't exactly known for a thriving nightlife.

He did not order anything with alcohol, and instead settled for a simple coke. He found himself lost in his own thoughts for a while, but was forced back to reality when something on the television above the bar caught his attention.

"Naval Petty Officer Veronica Lopez was found dead behind her parents home early this morning. She was in town to visit her grandmother in the hospital, but stayed home to care for her sister's baby as the rest of the family went out. She was not discovered until a neighbor woke the next morning and heard a baby crying from next door—"

A picture of the dead woman flashed on the screen. Spencer was a bit shocked to see she much resembled the victims in his case, and wondered why his team had not been informed of this new murder when they arrived. The reporter continued, saying the dead Petty Officer had been raped and beaten, but nothing was mentioned about slit wrists. Either they were withholding information from the media, and this was another victim, or another rapist had emerged with a similar MO. It was much more likely that it was the same killer of the other women.

Spencer pulled out his cell phone, his eyes still locked on the television screen, and dialed Hotch's cell. "Turn on channel five," he said quickly.

Though he got no immediate response, Spencer heard an echo of the report on the other end. Hotch said nothing until the newscast cut to commercials. "Do you think it is the same person?"

"Yes," Spencer responded, abandoning his soda and hurrying to the elevator. "The police probably didn't inform us because it didn't completely fit our MO."

Hotch's phone went dead, but Spencer was not offended. The elevator doors opened, revealing Spencer's supervisor. "I'll call the Police Chief, you go get the others." Hotch said, looking tired and ready for a good rest. But duty called.

&&&&

"We didn't inform you because this is not your case," Officer Burgess said, obviously very irritated to be woken up at ten PM. "The young woman was found at her parents' home, and her wrists were not cut."

Spencer drummed his fingers on his leg, wired from the coffee he got on the way to the police station. Per usual, he found himself exhausted when it was least convenient. "We have reason to believe it was the same unsub," he said, making eye contact with the policeman. He found that eye contact distracted others from how young he was, because his age often made others find him unreliable. "The setting is similar to the other crime scenes. She was found near a play set. The original victims were found at or near play sets, which makes us believe the unsub is targeting victims where children play. It is likely he was startled by the sound of the baby's crying from inside the house."

Burgess pressed his lips into a tight line, contemplating what the young agent was telling him. "Could that be why the third victim was left alive?"

"Possibly," Morgan interjected, stepping closer.

"Then why weren't her wrists slashed like the others? She was just found dead."

The BAU team stood silently for a moment, and it was Rossi that spoke first. "Do you have a copy of her autopsy report?"

Burgess nodded and turned, taking a file off the top of a chair behind him. Opening it, he handed it to Agent Rossi, who was silent as he read it. Finally, he spoke. "It says she was pregnant."

Burgess had obviously not had the opportunity to read the autopsy report, or had not found it relevant, as he appeared shocked. "So?"

"The cause of death was internal bleeding. The unsub delivered such a severe beating, it ruptured her Fallopian tube."

Spencer let out an audible "awe," his head tilting back slightly. "Ectopic pregnancy."

Officer Burgess had never been very knowledgeable when it came to anything medical, and was confused by this discovery. "And that is?"

"It's when a woman's egg is fertilized and implants anywhere other than the uterine wall, like the cervix or ovaries, and in this case," Spencer stood and leaned over Rossi's shoulder, much to the older agent's distaste, "the Fallopian tube. She must have been experiencing burning sensations and severe cramps. Do we know if she knew she was pregnant?"

JJ instinctively covered her stomach with one hand, the thought of having an embryo grow in the Fallopian tube was quite painful, even though she'd already given birth. "No, but whoever is working on her case would probably know right now. Do you know who that would be, Officer Burgess?"

"Yes." Sitting back down, he ran a hand over his shaven head, the stress of his job becoming very evident to him and everyone in the room. "NCIS Special Agent Leroy Gibbs and his team."

"Do you know where we can find Agent Gibbs?" Rossi stood, shooting the still hovering Spencer an aggravated glance.

"There is a Hilton two blocks east of here. His team is staying there until the investigation is finished."

&&&&

Before joining NCIS, Angie always turned her cell phone off at night. There were many things she disliked in life, and the sound of a phone ringing when she was fast asleep definitely ranked in the top ten. Ever since joining NCIS, her phone seemed to be going off at all hours of the night. She couldn't complain, though, because it usually meant somebody else was woken up in his or her sleep by a gun, or a hammer, or something else that caused death. She gladly chose an annoying ringtone over death.

"Yes boss," she said, attempting to make it sound like she hadn't been asleep at all.

"Get to the police station, and wake up Tony while you are at it."

The line was dead before she could respond.

She and Tony had been selected to ride along to investigate the crime scene, while McGee and Ziva were left in DC in case they were needed there. Tony was a good man to work with, Angie had to admit, but there were times she just wanted to smack him upside the head. She wasn't alone in this feeling.

Quickly she changed into what she had been wearing earlier that day and left her hotel room, wiping away at the oil that had built up on her face while she was sleeping with her sleeve. "Tony," she shouted, banging against his door. "Up and at 'em."

The door swung to reveal her fellow agent before she finished her sentence. "I figured we wouldn't be getting any sleep tonight."

"Why's that?"

"Because," they walked down the hall, meeting a very awake Gibbs in front of the elevator, "this always happens on the first night. You haven't been working out of DC long enough to figure that out yet."

Angie looked up at Gibbs, as if he was going to give some response to validate this claim. The only reply she got was his profile and a coffee cup at his lips. Averting her eyes quickly, she couldn't help but marvel at how good he looked for his age, given his occupation. Though his hair was the perfect salt and pepper mixture, his sharp face was only gently lined.

Actually, everyone in the team looked pretty good. That said, they weren't all that much older than her. Tony was the oldest, as he was on the team longest.

The ride to the station was short, but long enough for the newest member of the team to get a good number of yawns out in an attempt to wake up. She entered the building exhausted, but was soon wide awake when she found Spencer sitting in a chair in the office they were shuttled into.

The young Dr. Reid was especially surprised to see Angie arrive. He knew she worked for NCIS, but never would have guessed she would actually be there. What were the chances of that?

Morgan took notice of this as well, and a slight smirk flashed across his face, vanishing before anybody could notice. This was an interesting plot twist in the Reid/Angie case. His eyes swiveled away from the two head agents near him to the blonde woman sitting next to Spencer, then to his own team member. Spencer was very obviously avoiding eye contact with Angie, which Morgan found comical. Reid very rarely did not make eye contact with someone, which was kind of weird sometimes. But he was trying very, very hard not to look at the blonde NCIS agent next to him. How funny.

"Agent Hotchner, this is NCIS Special Agent Leroy Gibbs. Agent Gibbs, this is FBI Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner."

The two shook hands, though the introduction was not needed. They had met twice before, once while NCIS was investigating a homicide at Quantaco, the other when Hotchner was giving a speech in DC. It was back when Jenny Shepard was Director of NCIS. Gibbs hadn't actually attended the speech, mostly because he didn't feel the need, and he hated sitting through those things, but ran into him when looking for FBI Agent Fornell.

"Good to see you again, Agent Gibbs."

"You too, Agent Hotchner."

Angie took a seat next to Spencer, smirking at him while attempting to hide the fact that she felt embarrassed around him not wearing makeup. "This is odd," she remarked under her breath. Burgess was filling in both teams on the situation.

Spencer only nodded at turned his attention to the two agents in charge, pretending to be more interested in what was going on than running into her. The coffee shop was one thing, but on assignment? She was right, it was odd.

It was nearing daybreak before both teams reached a conclusion. The BAU suggested the case of the Petty Officer be handed over to them, while Gibbs' team was very much against the idea. Burgess, though inadequate at interpreting the medical lexicon, was adept at negotiating. The teams would work together and share information, since the cases were now within the jurisdiction of both.

Tony found himself looking around, wondering when Tobias Fornell was going to make an appearance, since it seemed that was always the case when inter-agency wars were occurring. It was silly, though, and he knew it. Fornell wouldn't be there if the BAU was.

"Okay guys." Burgess puffed out his chest, hoping to take control of the situation. "I'd suggest getting back to your rooms and getting some sleep. The investigation will continue later."

Everyone else in the room turned their heads in the detective's direction, eyebrows raised. Sleep? Nobody slept when there were possibly more lives at stake.

Angie leaned in to Spencer and smiled. "I've never worked a serial killer case before."

_**Note:**_ Yeah, yeah, I know. NCIS/Criminal Minds crossover. Don't worry, though. If you're not familiar with NCIS, I'm writing it so that you don't HAVE to be. Just treat the NCIS characters as if they were any other original character I introduced. I wasn't originally going to do this… but… well, I couldn't help it. Enjoy!


	3. Chapter 3

_It is your work in life that is the ultimate seduction._

-Pablo Picasso

Angie, engulfed in her work and unaware of her surroundings, was startled as a large, dark presence sat down next to her. With a slight jump, she found it was only Morgan, two cups of coffee in his hands. "Hey, I thought you might need this." She smiled in thanks and gladly received the coffee from him, returning her eyes to her work. She wasn't one for talk when reviewing information, such as the autopsy papers before her. "How's work over at NCIS?"

She wasn't entirely opposed to the idea of talking, since it was something she very much enjoyed. Abandoning her files, she sat up straight and stretched, letting out a small squeak as she did so. "I like it a lot. But it looks like we work a bit differently than you guys, though, at least on my team. Gibbs is a bit more demanding than Hotchner."

Morgan smiled and nodded, leaning with his elbow on the table. "It appears so. Kind of funny though, you and Reid remembering each other after so long then working together."

"Yeah, it is. But everything happens for a reason."

"Not sure if I believe that, but hey, it's all good. Need any help?"

"Nah, I've got it. I try to go through autopsy reports a lot because I'm still getting used to the whole dead-body thing. I was a lawyer in El Paso that worked mostly to help illegal immigrants, so I'm not exactly used to being around so much… death."

"Ah, so you're a lawyer." Morgan lifted his chin slightly, flashing a bemused half smile. "That explains why you're so slick."

Angie lifted a delicately plucked eyebrow, baffled by the statement. "Slick?"

"Yep." He winked and stood, returning to his place next to Prentiss in front of the bulletin board.

Well, that was certainly weird, Angie thought, shaking her head and returning to her paperwork. Finally she tired of looking at dead bodies and decided to join Tony, who was oh-so-smoothly flirting with an unreceptive JJ. He was attractive, with his strong Italian features and suave attire, but it was clear she wasn't interested. She didn't blow him off, though, and went over details with him in a very _not _flirtatious manner.

JJ's eyes met Angie's, growing relieved to see somebody had come to her aid. "Hey," Angie said, placing her hand on Tony's head and turning it to look at her, "have you asked JJ here about her baby? She showed me a picture of him earlier, he's quite adorable."

"Baby?" Tony's eyes swiveled back to the blonde woman he had just moments ago been heavily flirting with. With a cough, he said, "Well no, I haven't. We were just discussing whether or not there was a connection between any of the victims. McGee couldn't dig anything up other than they all went out running a lot, and the FBI's computer wiz couldn't find anything else, either."

"He's right," JJ agreed, handing over the file she had been holding to Angie to look through. "Vega was an elementary school teacher, Antonia a bartender, and Sisneros was a martial arts instructor. No need to tell you that Veronica Lopez was a Petty Officer."

"She was also the only victim not to have her wrists slit and not be in a park. Any idea why?"

Tony interjected, still a bit embarrassed to have been flirting with someone he assumed was married. "There's the possibility he was startled by the sound of the baby inside. The cradle was in a room on the bottom level of the house, and not far from an open window. It might have started crying at some point, startling the killer into thinking there was someone home, even though there were no cars outside the house. That could be why he didn't cut her wrists. He didn't have time. He just abandoned her, and she bled out internally."

"I figured as much on the baby part," Angie said, flipping through the pages. "Strange how she wasn't out at the park. All the other women had been out jogging, and it didn't rain when the Petty Officer was killed. Crime of opportunity, or a copycat?"

"Possibly." Spencer had not been sitting far, and heard most of the conversation while discussing something with Rossi. "I doubt she was the victim of a copycat, because she resembles the other victims."

Angie nodded, and opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted. Hotch re-entered the room, Officer Burgess following closely. "Are we ready to make a profile?"

The members of the BAU all agreed, but Angie found the whole process kind of weird. At NCIS, they rarely had to come up with profiles. Everything was done by linking together evidence, and rarely was the suspect's profile a factor in anything. Still, it was interesting to hear what the BAU had to say.

The evidence was discussed, and after about an hour, the FBI was ready to give their information to the other officers. Angie sat with the police, watching the team give details they believed would help find whoever it was that was attacking those women. They stood with confidence, and delivered their profile. They believed it was a Hispanic male, whose age was between twenty-five and thirty. He was intelligent, and probably followed the weather closely. He wasn't the kind of person that could easily speak to women, probably due to feeling emasculated around them. Perhaps he had an abusive mother, or had bad experiences with girlfriends. He was taking out his rage on Hispanic women by beating them, and the wrist cutting symbolically drained them of their power over men. He probably lived in the neighborhood of Petty Officer Lopez, since she was the only victim not found in a park. Seeing her on the playground in the backyard set him off.

Angie was fascinated. She was used to dealing with psychos, but she wasn't used to looking into the subject's brain. Cutting wrists to take away their power? She would have _never_ come up with something like that just by looking over information and talking to people. She was good at piecing things together, but not in the way the BAU was.

"But why parks?" An officer asked, not looking up from his pad of paper. He was still scribbling down notes.

Spencer was the one to answer this question. "It might have something to do with a traumatic event in his life that took place on or near a playground. Perhaps he was embarrassed by a girlfriend at a playground, or his mother beat him in front of other children at the park."

Angie cupped her face in her hands, her elbows propped up on her legs as she listened. Everything was so fascinating. She wished suddenly she would have taken more interest in psychology while in college, instead of focusing all her time and energy on law and language. This whole profiling thing was brilliant.

Once they were finished, Angie strode up to Spencer, her head cocked gently to the side. "How interesting," she said. "Profiling isn't something we use a lot at NCIS."

He shrugged, stifling a yawn. He didn't respond to her right away, instead losing himself momentarily in her appearance. He couldn't figure out why it was so easy to talk to her, when he usually had a lot of trouble around new women. Outside of work, that is. But Angie, though now currently working with him, was different. Even at the café, the awkwardness he usually felt around women wasn't there. What did it mean?

"Well, we _are_ the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Getting into the unsub's head is our job."

The clock on the wall behind him caught Angie's eye, and she realized it had been almost 32 hours since she got any sleep. The heads of both teams had given them leave to go and rest for a few hours after the BAU delivered their profile. "Wow, I just realized how tired I am," she said, forgetting what they were originally talking about.

Spencer looked over his shoulder at the clock. "Yep. I'm exhausted."

"Where are you guys staying?"

"The Holiday Inn not far from here. About a mile away, I think."

"We're staying at the Hilton down the road. Why don't you… join me for a drink and tell me a bit more about this whole profiling deal you've got. I'm interested."

Spencer, while tired, figured he wasn't going to fall asleep on his own anyway, so didn't see the problem. Plus she was fun and easy-going. He liked that. "Sure."

Together they gathered their things and left. Outside, Morgan leaned back in his car, the motor humming gently in the background. He saw Spencer in the rear-view mirror, walking down the street with Angie. He thought back when he and Reid had been checking nightclubs for a serial killer, and the younger man was having trouble. It was funny to see that everything he told Spencer, none of it really applied to Angie. Statistics were something Spencer knew a lot about, and while most women would have made him talk to the hand, Angie actually liked it. Morgan was glad to see there was _somebody_ out there that liked Spencer's random facts and trivia.

Then again, Morgan thought, his colleague was probably too dense to realize it.

&&&&

As it turned out, they never actually got the drink. Out of habit, they completely bypassed the bar and headed to Angie's hotel room. Having veered off the conversation of profiling, they discussed history. How they got there, neither could remember.

After a heated debate over whether or not it was possible for an Atlantis to ever exist, they sat on the couch and zoned out into some mindless sitcom that happened to be on television. The conversation picked up every few minutes or so, before dying out again into a comfortable silence.

Suddenly, they were startled by an intense beating at the door. Angie jumped first, realizing she had drifted to sleep, and at some point had cuddled up to a snoozing Spencer. Embarrassed, she bounced from her spot and hurried to the door, attempting to hide her blushing face with her hair.

It was Gibbs at the door, Tony behind him. The older agent looked very agitated, the lines in his forehead pressed deeper. "What in the world is wrong with you?"

"What?" She was still a bit disoriented, and her vision had not quite cleared. Everything was a bit fuzzy.

"I told you we had to be back at the precinct at six."

Angie, mortified, looked at her cell phone, only to realize it was six fifteen. In Gibbs world, though, it didn't matter how late she was. If he was waiting, she was in the wrong. "Sorry boss," she stammered, turned to Spencer and waving a hand frantically for him to follow. "We were talking and must have fallen asleep. It won't happen again."

"Be sure it doesn't, Agent Martinez." He didn't add anything else and turned, his long coat flapping around his legs as he walked.

Tony remained behind, smiling from ear to ear, like a child who was about to tell his parents his sibling did something wrong. His eyes traveled from Angie to Spencer and back again. "Careful," she said flatly, shutting the door behind her and her guest, "if you smile too wide, your lips will split in half."

The two argued slightly, as Tony found it appropriate to gloat and tease, while Spencer traveled meekly behind them. He must have been the one to fall asleep first, because he couldn't recall when he'd placed his arms around her midsection, or when she'd pressed her head against his neck. It was all very confusing.

Once in the car, they traveled back to the precinct quietly, as Gibbs was in no mood to talk. Angie was fine with this. Talking to Spencer would be too awkward anyway.

The BAU team was already there when they arrived. When Spencer walked into the room, all but Morgan looked at him with questioning eyes. Nobody knew where he'd gone, and had tried his cell several times. Spencer realized he must have turned it off at some point. Another thing he couldn't quite remember, though it was probably around the time they turned on the television.

Morgan took great care to edge across the room, coming to a silent stop next to Spencer. He didn't say anything as they discussed how they would catch this serial killer.

"Given that the unsub will not deviate from his pattern again, it is probable that he will strike the next time it rains." Hotchner stood at the front of the room, next to Gibbs.

There was a woman on speakerphone, someone NCIS had come to know as Garcia. "It's supposed to rain tonight," she said, the sound of typing in the background. "There's an eighty percent chance of rain around ten tonight."

Gibbs turned around and looked at the map behind him, each of the locations circled in red. "The first two were attacked at Middlefield Park, the other at a smaller one a mile away, which was only a block from the victim's house. Petty Officer Lopez's house is three blocks from that location."

"He's trolling the area," Angie announced, even though they'd already gone over that before. "He's probably driving around, searching the area. Maybe he pulls over when he sees his victim in the park, pretends to ask them for directions, then rapes and kills them."

Prentiss nodded her head in agreement. "She's right. We should patrol the area tonight for cars that are driving slowly through these neighborhoods."

"No." Angie had been thinking about this a little, but hadn't said anything before. "We need to send someone in, someone that fits that description. Undercover. We have a better shot of catching him that way. We can't just pull over every slow-moving car we see, it'll tip him off."

Gibbs crossed his arms, tilting his chin upwards slightly. "Are you suggesting we send you in, Martinez?"

She fidgeted with her badge, a bit afraid to answer. Being in the field was new for her. She was still a Probie. From what Tony and Ziva had told her, Gibbs hadn't been too happy about a new agent being placed in his unit, which explained a lot about his reluctance to take her to crime scenes. Part of her wanted to go undercover to catch the creep that was killing women, while the other half really wanted to please her new boss.

"Yes, boss."

The room was quiet for a moment, and Burgess broke the silence. "I don't see a problem with it. She's right about tipping him off, and she fits the description perfectly. Hispanic, blonde, athletic. It could be a while before he strikes again, considering there aren't that many Latina blondes in this area. He might not even stay here for that long. All these crimes are recent. He could move on to somewhere else."

Gibbs wasn't too sure on the idea, but he was cornered. Martinez was inexperienced, and could barely stand being in autopsy. He didn't know if she could handle going undercover to catch a very dangerous criminal. At the same time, Burgess and Martinez both had a good point. They might lose their opportunity to catch the guy if they didn't send her out.

"Please, let me do it," Angie said, her voice noticeable softer. She was terrified.

Hotchner looked at Gibbs, as it wasn't his agent he would be giving the okay to. "Agent Gibbs," he said, leaning in slightly so that only Gibbs could hear, "we need to do this."

Another silence played out before Gibbs sighed, took a drink of his coffee, and nodded. "Well, what are you waiting for? Get ready."


	4. Chapter 4

_A man who carries a cat by the tail learns something he can learn in no other way._

-Mark Twain

"Are you sure about this?" Spencer asked, conveniently positioned across the table from Angie.

"Positive. I mean, what's the worst that could happen? The guy comes up and I struggle a bit, then he's arrested. He might not even show up at all."

It was nearing sunset, and for the past few hours, Spencer and Angie avoided getting too close to each other. While Spencer was not used to being too close to girls, especially cuddling, he thought it shouldn't bother him. But it did. It was weird. As for Angie, she'd been with a few men. She'd dated. She wasn't afraid to flirt with someone she found attractive. So why did it freak her out so much to end up sleep-cuddling with a man she hardly knew?

She was dressed in a tight blue sports bra and shorts, which definitely didn't help her feel any more comfortable. She worked out plenty at the NCIS gym, and she had been in dance classes most of her life, so sports bras didn't bother her. But around Spencer, it made her feel self-conscious and aware of her flaws.

Spencer, on the other hand, pretended she was dressed as an Eskimo.

Morgan patted her on the shoulder. "You'll be fine, Slick." Ever since his mysterious comment to her, he'd taken to calling her Slick, which she wouldn't have minded if he just told her _why_ it was her new name. But he refused to tell her, always perky and obnoxious. He kind of reminded her of Tony.

Each moment that passed became excruciatingly long. Every time she looked at the clock, Angie wanted to scream at Gibbs, plead for him to make her _not_ go. But this was something she had to do. She'd had the barrel of a shotgun in her face before, and had been nearly beaten by angry rednecks. She'd seen her Muslim father came home beaten and black too many times after 9/11. The first case she ever worked as a lawyer was the case of her uncle, who had crossed the border illegally from Mexico. The horror stories he told her about the _coyotes_ that had smuggled him and demanded five-hundred dollars, or her uncle would die. And that was all before joining NCIS.

She had to do this.

Closing her eyes, she pretended she wasn't there, and imagined herself back home. Her Grandmother was there, elderly and sick, but full of life. She listened to the stories her grandmother told, of _El Virgin de Guadalupe_ and her appearance to an Indian man, and the terrifying tales of _La Llorona_, who killed her own children in a river. The memories calmed her. Lost in them, she barely heard Tony tell her it was time.

She took a rental car to the park nearest Petty Officer Lopez's murder. Clouds had long since formed in the sky, hanging heavy and darkening her surroundings. She was alone now, or at least it felt that way. She knew her team was not far off, watching from locations they could not be detected. Still, as she got out of the car and pulled her masses of blonde curls behind her head, she couldn't help but feel like nobody was there to help her.

Fortunately for her, Angie was in good shape. As she took off around that track, she calmed down, the stress of the situation evaporating from her muscles. Even so, she kept her guard up, watching all around her. It occurred to her that it was very odd anybody Hispanic had been attacked in that area, period. It didn't look like a Latino neighborhood, not like any she had seen. It wasn't high-class, but it wasn't covered in graffiti of the Virgin, either.

She made it around the track one time. Stopping, she wiped sweat from her brow and checked her cell phone. Only fifteen minutes had passed. She rested momentarily, then took off again, trying not to focus on the feeling of pavement beneath her feet, and more on any breaking stick, or crushed leaves. Two more times around the track, and nothing happened.

She came to a stop again, this time in front of the playground. If he was going to attack, which she was beginning to doubt he would, it would be there. She sat on one of the swings, her breathing slightly strained, though she knew she could run much longer. Nothing had happened yet. No twigs snapped, no suspicious cars had passed. Nothing.

Finally she gave up. Once the rain began pouring, she waited beneath a tree, just in case. But that would seem odd, she figured, and she hurried back to her car, unscathed. He wasn't stalking that night, or he knew she was a cop.

Nearing the station, two large, black SUVs followed her, coming to a stop just feet from her. She was drenched in rainwater as she entered the precinct building. The cool bursts of cold air from the air conditioner might as well have been buckets of ice.

"Well, that was a waste," she said. "Nothing happened."

"It wasn't a waste." Morgan wrapped a blanket around her. "We'll send you out the next time it rains to see if he bites."

She nodded and thanked him for the blanket, then stood and exited with her team. She was still a bit shaken up, but at that point, there wasn't much anybody could do but wait. She just hoped somebody else wouldn't die while they waited to send her out again.

Spencer rubbed his eyes furiously. Morgan took Angie's seat, though it was kind of wet, his eyes burning holes into Spencer's skin. "What?" The genius asked, his nerves on edge.

"You came in with Angie. You okay with her going out there like that?" He could tell this wasn't the time to poke fun, as there definitely was something going on with Reid.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" Truth was, he didn't like it at all. But he wasn't going to let anybody know that.

Morgan leaned in, his eyes narrowed in concerned suspicion. "Are you sure?"

For the second time, Spencer said, "Why wouldn't I be?"

Looking up, his eidetic memory absorbing everything around him, he looked into Morgan's eyes. They cared. He always knew Morgan cared, but it always felt strange to actually see it in someone's eyes. He couldn't lie to his team, especially not Morgan, who treated him like a brother. "I'm not okay with her going out there like that."

"People do it all the time in a job like ours."

"But…" he wasn't sure what to say. He didn't know _why_ he had a problem with it, just that he did. He cared too much for Angie to let her go out like that, even though he'd only known her for a short while. It was strange to him that he cared at all. Everything about Angie scared him.

Morgan knew. "It's okay. She'll be fine." It was nice to see Spencer caring about someone like _that,_ even if Reid didn't quite understand it. Ha. Spencer not understanding something, and Morgan getting it perfectly. How the world was fair.

"I think I'm going to go check on her."

"But she just left!"

Spencer rested his head on the palm of his hand, his elbow propped up on the table. "I know. I just don't feel comfortable letting her go by herself."

"But she's not by herself…" Morgan stopped, trying to determine whether or not it would be a good idea to let Spencer go to her. On the one hand, she would probably find it cute. On the other, she might just find it weird and slightly offensive. It just depended on the type of agent she was, and how much she liked Spencer. "Listen dude, don't go after her today. It'll just seem like you're obsessing over her."

"But I'm not." He straightened up in his chair, his chest puffing out slightly. Not that his chest could puff much, considering there wasn't much there in the first place.

"I said it would seem like it. Let her be by herself."

"But what if she—"

"Leave the 'what ifs' for the job, okay?"

Spencer couldn't argue with him anymore. Whether it was because he agreed with the elder agent or because he was too exhausted to fight, he couldn't tell. He didn't respond to Morgan, and stood to leave. JJ and Prentiss followed him out, concerned, but not asking questions.

&&&&

Angie slept strangely well that night, given the situation. When she awoke, she felt refreshed and energized, which concerned her slightly. Ever since she began working for NCIS, she slept different. It wasn't necessarily that she slept less, but that when she woke up, she didn't feel ready to go. She felt determined, yes, because she loved her job. But she definitely felt more stressed. She revealed her feelings about it on the phone to her mother one day, who only laughed and said it was strange. Lawyers aren't supposed to sleep well, she said.

She showered and applied curling mousse to her hair, just to keep the frizz down. If she didn't, it wasn't so much curly as it was wavy and outrageous, an effect she never went for. She applied makeup to her face, lining her eyes expertly with a stick of dark kohl. She didn't often wear makeup at all, mostly because she didn't have the time to apply it. But she liked the affect it had on her features.

Refreshed, she left her room and found Gibbs exiting his room. He looked tired but clean, though he always looked like that. "Is Tony awake?"

Gibbs looked up at her, bringing a cup of coffee to his lips before responding. "He better be."

On cue, Tony opened the door to his room, a grin on his face per usual. "Good morning," he said, stretching.

Gibbs did not waste time with good mornings and hellos. He seemed on edge, which was quite common with Gibbs. It was just how he was when on a case. He had to find out who it was. A man killing innocent women was not a man that would be safe from Gibbs. "Tony and I going to interview the surviving victim today."

"I thought she didn't remember anything," Angie asked, pushing the down button in the elevator.

"That was then. You will go with the BAU and prepare for tonight."

Angie's lips flattened into a tense line. She was _not_ enthusiastic about the idea of going undercover again so soon. "Is it even going to rain?"

"It's supposed to. I checked the weather this morning."

&&&&

Reid was drawn into a book he had read many times. He didn't even have to read every page, he could just skip over what he didn't feel like reading, because he had it all memorized already. Even so, he couldn't help it. The books offered him comfort.

"_Lord of the Rings_? Again?" Morgan looked over his shoulder, eyebrows raised.

"Yes," Reid replied unenthusiastically. He wasn't supposed to be reading on the job if it didn't pertain to the case, but there really wasn't all that much to do aside from interviewing and going over the evidence they had already been through a hundred times.

"I'm afraid you'll have to visit the Land of Small Gay Men later. Hotch wants you and I to go interview the family of the surviving victim."

"We already did that."

"He wants us to do it again."

Reid was frustrated. The last thing he wanted to do was interview the family a second time. Interviews were always hard, and doing it again was terrible. But SSA Hotchner knew what he was asking, and Reid knew better than to question it. "Alright."

He stood to leave, grabbing pulling his jacket on over his thin torso. He went to grab his badge when Angie entered the room, looking fresh and ready to go. "Morning," she chirped, her tone a far cry from the one the night before. Reid was a bit surprised to see her all well.

"You seem happy," he said, his feet bringing him closer to her without his knowledge. Soon he found himself standing next to her and unable to remember how he got there.

"Why wouldn't I be? I'm not going to let a case bring me down. If I did, I'd be dead by now."

Her optimism was quite inspiring, really. There were many times Spencer found himself "down in the dumps" so to speak, the reality of his profession getting the better of him. She seemed happy with it. Maybe it was her newness to the whole deal.

"Where is the rest of your team?"

"Gibbs and Tony went to interview the surviving victim."

"Ah. Morgan and I were just about to go interview the family."

"Oh, good, why don't I go with you? Gibbs didn't really leave me with anything to do, and I don't want to be stuck in here all day."

Spencer looked over his shoulder at Morgan, who shrugged and smiled. "Um… sure… great."

&&&&

There was no luck. Angie and Spencer both knew it was going to be a pointless trip. The family had nothing to hide. They were strong and close, always supportive of their child.

Back in the FBI's SUV, Spencer had opted to sit in the back with Angie. Morgan couldn't help but inwardly chuckle at how obvious the young man was being. Not that Spencer even realized how obvious he was being. He still thought he was just being friendly. But he wasn't the only one who could tell. Angie saw straight through Spencer, even if it took her a day or so to figure it out. It was cute, really, how puppyish he was being. She felt very flattered by this, but didn't want to bring it up until the case was over. After all, she still felt awkward about falling asleep with him. That should have been a good indicator of how he felt. And, of course, how _she_ felt. She wasn't sure whether or not she had a crush or not, and if she did, she didn't want to call it that. She felt crushes were reserved for teenagers and children.

She reminded herself they had only known each other a few days. No point in rushing into anything if there was something to be had. It was something she learned from experience. Looking back, all the worst relationships she'd ever had were with men she got involved with too quickly. She felt even thinking about being involved with him was moving too quickly… but for some reason, the thought of a future with the genius was very much appealing.

"Um… Angie?"

Angie felt herself pulled back into reality and away from her thoughts. Spencer had apparently said something to her, and was looking at her with large, concerned eyes. "Are you okay?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Sorry. I tend to drift off into my head sometimes. What did you say?"

"I said JJ sent me a text. They found another body."


	5. Chapter 5

_Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love._

-William Shakespeare

The attacks were getting more brutal. Angie knelt down, moving the hair out of the young woman's face. She was quite beautiful, this young girl, who couldn't be more than twenty-four. She was dressed in a pink jogging outfit. Angie struggled to hold back tears. She had never cried over a body before, but this one compelled her to. Looking at the young woman's face, still unidentified, she was racked with guilt. If only she had gone to the right park, maybe this wouldn't have happened. If she had only picked the right place, she could have caught the bastard that did those things and put him away forever. But she didn't.

"It's definitely the same guy," she said, hiding her face from the others. "The wounds on her wrists are identical to the others…" Something about this woman nagged at Angie. She felt as if she'd seen her before, somewhere else, but she couldn't place from where, or even if she really had.

"Liver temp indicates she died around three this morning." The M.E. pulled the liver thermometer from the woman's body.

Angie stood, staring down at the body with her arms crossed. "I feel like I've seen her somewhere before."

"Well, she does look an awful lot like the other victims… déjà vu, maybe?" Prentiss knelt down, her eyebrows knit together in concentration. "Looks like there might be a tattoo here…" she lifted the woman's shirt above her bellybutton.

Angie knew those tattoos. There were two on each side of the woman's stomach, each of two snakes twisting around each other. The tattoos began at her hips on both sides, and extended up and over to the back of the body. Angie didn't want to believe she knew the woman, but if the tattoos matched… "Turn the body."

The M.E. nodded, turning the body only enough to see the tattoos coming to an end at a point directly opposite of the starting point on her lower back. Angie released a sigh, her heart throbbing painfully. "I know her."

Spencer placed a hand on her shoulder, placing himself between her and the body. "Where from?" His eyes were wide, questioning.

"Her name is Aurelia Gutierrez. She's a performer for a dance troupe I saw a few weeks back. I spent some time talking to her after the show. Their tour ended a week ago. I didn't know she lived here, since she's from San Francisco."

"Are you sure?" Morgan searched around the body a second time, but there was no ID to be found.

"Positive. I'd recognize those tattoos anywhere. She's a new member of Zaghareet Malay. They're from Pasadena, I used to take lessons from the founder when I lived there. I almost joined the troupe before I went to law school."

Spencer nodded, his eyes cast down in thought. "Zaghareet? Isn't that the sound Middle Eastern women make?"

"Yeah…"

"I don't think I've ever heard that sound before," Tony said, surprising Angie from behind. She had called them as soon as she arrived at the scene.

Angie didn't get the chance to answer him, as Spencer responded for her. "It's this high-pitched lee-lee sound Middle Eastern women make. They place their hand horizontally over their mouth to hide the movement of their tongue."

Gibbs was standing not far behind Tony, his usual cup of black coffee in hand. Angie nudged Spencer to drop the subject. "Boss," Angie started, desperately changing the subject. "The victim appears to be twenty-four year old Aurelia Gutierrez."

"You find ID?" He asked, staring down at the body.

"No… I know her."

Gibbs looked up, his eyes stern. She felt as if he was looking straight through her, unraveling all her secrets. It was a look Gibbs was very good at. "Okay." He didn't push the subject, leaving Angie feeling slightly relieved. She didn't want to talk about it right then. It was strange that she felt so broken up in the first place, considering she had only met the dancer once.

Angie held her camera up to her eye, quickly snapping pictures of the crime scene. "Belly dancers!" Tony exclaimed from behind her, nearly causing her to drop the expensive piece of equipment.

"Excuse me?" Gibbs asked, eyebrows raised.

"Belly dancers. The zaghareet, I have heard it before. Belly dancers make it!"

Angie rolled her eyes and looked over her shoulder at the sturdy Italian. "Yes, Tony, belly dancers do make that sound."

"I love belly dancers…"

Spencer and Morgan looked at each other, amused by the NCIS agent. Though they had not known him long, Tony's interest in women was becoming exceedingly apparent.

"Well good," Angie said, irritated and not in the mood for Tony's comments on women. "Because Zaghareet is a belly dance troupe."

"You took belly dance lessons?" Spencer folded his arms, surprised. She was half Lebanese, but for some reason she had never struck him as the belly dancing type. She seemed too into her career to have a hobby like that. But he knew from years with the BAU that profiling wasn't an exact art, and there were things that slipped past even the most experience profilers.

"Yeah," she answered, holding the young woman's head up while Prentiss searched around that area. "My grandmother on my dad's side taught me when I was little, and I decided to take different forms as I got older."

"Interesting…" Tony's face froze in that half grin, half thoughtful look he often used when thinking about a woman. "You never told us that."

"I told Ziva and Abby."

"Of course you'd only tell women…"

Gibbs smiled softly and said, "She told me."

"Well of course boss, I wasn't saying…" he stopped, feeling the hole he had dug getting deeper and deeper.

Angie tried to smile, but found it hard, given the situation. She had yet to come upon a case that influenced her so directly. Aurelia was such a gifted dancer, and a terrific person. Angie had only met her once, but from that short acquaintance she knew that Aurelia was a great person. It was such a shame.

&&&&

Several hours later, after the body had been sent off to autopsy and the crime scene thoroughly investigated by the capable minds of both the BAU and NCIS, everybody went back to their hotels. Everybody was frustrated by the lack of leads in this case. Nobody could find something to connect the victims. Garcia, a hacker that would give a thousand McGee's and Abby's a run for their money, could find nothing. Likewise, McGee found nothing back in DC, and wanted to join them. Gibbs said no, because somebody had to stay behind and work the computers. Ziva was none-too-happy to be staying behind as well.

Everybody knew this killer didn't care about the personal lives of his victims. He just drove around, looking for someone that fit his taste. Angie, laying in her hotel room, wondered what she would say to him when he was caught. It was always a shame when someone was murdered, but when she had a personal connection to them, it felt so much worse.

Sometime around midnight, Angie came to terms with her inability to sleep. It wasn't going to happen, not until they caught the killer. But she didn't want to sit around in her room until morning. Her mind could be put to some use at the police station.

Quickly she dressed herself and left, deciding she'd call Gibbs and Tony in the morning to let them know she had already left. The station wasn't too far, so she opted to walk instead of drive. The night was crisp, and a slight breeze sent chills through her limbs. It was actually kind of refreshing. Everything seemed alright, even though there was a dangerous man on the loose, looking for women that looked like her.

The station was darker than during the day, and there were only a few cops sitting around. The cops said nothing to her as she made her way to the room set up for their use. She was surprised to see that there was a light on inside it.

"Spencer?" She opened the door quietly, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. He looked up from a corner chair, a single lamp sitting next to him.

"What are you doing here?" He asked, closing the file he was reading. He looked much thinner in the faint lighting, or maybe she had never noticed just how thin he was.

"I could ask you the same thing," she said, closing the door behind her and crossing the room to him. He handed her one of the many files on the floor beside him. "Can't sleep?" She pulled a chair from the table and positioned herself next to him.

He smiled, leaning back in his chair and stretching. "I have a hard time sleeping during cases in general. I hate hotel rooms, though, so I came here. It's not like back home, where I can wander around my apartment. It's just one little room."

Nodding, she opened the file he had given her and scanned over it. Her eyes refused to process any of the information. Only when she realized she'd already read the folder earlier in the investigation did she place it back with the others and sigh. "I read the same sentence over and over again until I realized what it meant."

Spencer chuckled softly. "So… you doing okay?"

She looked over at him, pushing her hair behind her ear. "Yeah, why?"

"You knew her. You seemed pretty upset about finding her."

"I was. But it comes with the territory, I guess. It was just so… surprising."

The guilt Angie had been feeling about not being in the right place had yet to subside. She felt responsible for this, even though there was no way she could have known which park was the right one. Spencer sensed this, and without thinking, reached out and took her hand. She looked up, surprised, only to see he was just as surprised as she.

But she didn't pull away. He was so kind and intelligent, and his awkwardness was endearing. Most of the men she had ever dated ended up being jerks, but she had a good feeling about Spencer.

His face turned red. He tried to pull his hand away, apologizing, but she strengthened her grip. What she was about to do would end up doing one of three things: it would do nothing, and everything would stay the same; it would ruin their relationship, and they would have to work around an awkward tension; or what she hoped would happen, and he wouldn't reject her.

"Sorry, you just seemed upset, and I was just trying to help, I wasn't making a pass at you or anything, just being helpful…"

Angie lifted a hand to silence him and leaned forward. He was still trying to talk when she kissed him, but he quickly stopped, shocked. When he didn't kiss back, Angie pulled away, her hands shaking. She felt like she'd made a fool of herself, and that she had jumped to conclusions about his feelings for her.

"I'm going to leave now," she breathed, quickly jumping from her chair and all but sprinting across the room. She was mortified but what she had done. How stupid can I be? The last time I did something this stupid I was drunk and it was New Years. And it was Tony when the ball dropped. But whatever, he was too drunk to remember. Thank god. I would have never lived that one down…

"Wait," Spencer called when he was over his shock, stopping her before she could get out the door. He grabbed her arm when he got to her, spinning her around to face him. Her eyes were wide and apologetic, but they didn't need to be.

In a very out-of-character display of control, he put his hand on the small of her back and pulled her close, his lips pressed against hers. Her heart sped up, but she could feel his beneath his chest, beating furiously, like the heart of a young man who was having his first kiss. She assumed this wasn't his first kiss, but with Spencer you could never tell.

He pressed her into the wall with a ferocity she found exhilarating and unusual. He always struck her as the soft, gentle kind of kisser, but was quickly proving her otherwise. Not that she minded or anything, it was nice to see he had a bit of a wild side.

She felt his hands disappear inside her shirt, his lips trailing from her jaw to her throat. She knew if she didn't stop him now there was a pretty good chance they'd get caught. "Stop, stop," she gasped, pushing him away. "If we're going to do this, let's at least go to my hotel room."

He stared at her for a moment, registering what she was asking him. "Are you sure?" He obviously wasn't opposed to the idea, which wasn't surprising, given that he was endowed with a Y chromosome.

"Yeah, yeah."

"Do you have… um…" he seemed to be embarrassed to say "condoms", but she knew what he meant.

"No, actually…"

"I can run to the store to get them and meet you at your hotel."

She smiled at his enthusiasm and agreed, shutting off the light as he left. She could have gone with him, but wanted some time to prepare. She crossed the street and took off at a run, her heart fluttering inside her chest. It crossed her mind that it might not be the smartest idea to sleep with a guy she wasn't dating, but at that point she didn't care. Several days of pent-up sexual tension was driving her.

Coming to a stop at an intersection, she looked around. She waited for a few cars to pass before she stepped off the curve to cross the road. In sync with her foot touching the pavement, somebody startled her from behind, grabbing her around the neck and pressing a cloth to her mouth. She struggled against him and managed to get a few good hits in before her strength gave out and she lost consciousness.


	6. Chapter 6

"_The only thing we have to fear on this planet is man."_

-Carl Gustav Jung

Morgan's voice was muffled but loud on the other side of Spencer's door, screaming for Reid to get up. Spencer stumbled out of bed, still a bit groggy from the night before. After he had waited around at Angie's hotel, he assumed she had changed her mind and ditched him. It wouldn't be the first time he'd been stood up by a woman, but it didn't change the fact that it stung. He grabbed a bottle of wine on the way home and finished off half of it before he fell asleep. Looking at the clock, he realized he was an hour late.

"I'm coming," he called, pulling on a fresh shirt and running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to make it look less messy. As he opened the door, he expected to see Morgan's face frozen and irritated, but instead his eyes were wide and his lips pressed together. "Look I know I'm late, I'm sorry…"

"It's not that," Morgan said gruffly. "We can't find Angie."

Spencer was dumbstruck. His thoughts flashed back to the night before, looking at all the signs that something was wrong. Angie would never have ditched him like that, he just knew it. He let his paranoia get the best of him, and he felt responsible. "She's not in her hotel room?"

"No," Morgan shook his head, ushering Spencer out of the room. "Gibbs sent Tony to wake her up a few hours ago, and she wasn't there. She isn't answering her cell phone."

"Have Garcia try and trace it."

"NCIS already called one of their agents back in DC to do that. It's turned off."

&&&&

Wherever they were, it wasn't what somebody would expect as the home of a serial killer. The walls were not dingy and made of cement. The floors were crème colored, and the furniture was modern and attractive. It would have been beautiful if not for the fact that Angie was tied up in a chair.

Across from her sat a Hispanic man. He was lanky and thin with bad skin and a large nose. His eyes were wide and bulging, but full of emotion. "I'm sorry," he repeated over and over again, occasionally reaching out to touch her face. He stopped when she nearly bit off a finger. "You left me no choice."

Angie tugged at her restraints, at least hoping to knock the chair over. Unfortunately it seemed to be nailed to the floor, and her wrists were beginning to bleed from the ropes tearing into her skin. She wasn't sure how long she'd been there, but knew it must have been several hours, because the sun outside was beginning to set again. There were windows in the room with curtains, but she could see enough through them to see that there were no houses opposite the one she was in. She feared she was somewhere remote.

"What the hell do you want?" She seethed at him, wincing in pain each time she attempted to lunge forward out of the chair.

He simply watched her from a few feet away, a small smile on his face. He watched her the way someone watches a loved one, his eyes lit up, his smile subtle and caring. And though he didn't say much, he said enough for Angie to know he was the man behind all the killings. She just couldn't figure out why he had taken her, instead of attacking her in a park like he did the others.

She tried to imagine what Spencer would say in that situation. His voice chimed in her head, saying the Unsub changed his routine because they were on to him. By then, Angie didn't even care. She just wanted to beat the man until each and every bone in his body was broken.

"You seem to be feeling better now," he said softly, tilting his head to one side. "I'm glad I found you."

"Suck it."

His eyebrows knit together, his mouth pursing slightly. "Virginia, what's gotten in to you?"

Angie blinked, confused. Looking around the room, she noticed pictures on the walls. Most of them were of the strange man and a woman, blonde with tanned skin and full lips. Angie relaxed a bit, not because she felt more comfortable, but because she realized if she was going to get out alive, she was going to have to play along.

"Honey…" She didn't know his name, and hoped giving him a pet name would cover up that fact. "Bring me that picture." She nodded at a picture sitting on the mantle of the fireplace a few feet from her.

He stood up and brought it over to her. "I loved this day. It was when we went to Puerto Rico to visit my parents."

The man in the picture was the same as the man in the room, but a few years younger. His face was fuller, and he appeared much healthier. The woman was the strangest part of the picture. She looked a lot like the murdered women, but most of all, she looked like Angie. It wasn't just an uncanny resemblance, either. It was as if someone cloned her. Things were beginning to piece together for Angie.

"Yes, yes, I remember. I've… uh… I've missed you." Her hands were freezing, her breath sharp against her throat. "Now… I need you to tell me about those girls."

He became silent, placing the picture back in its place. "They were imposters. They ran in your parks and they dressed up like you because they're jealous. But they weren't you. I saw them and when they weren't you, I got mad. Nobody can be you but you!"

&&&&

Gibbs stared down his nose, arms crossed and eyes narrowed, at Spencer. "Why in the world did you let her go home alone?"

Spencer felt responsible for all of this, but had not yet told everybody _why_ he was going to meet Angie at her hotel room, though he suspected they already knew. "I didn't know she hadn't come in a car. She was going to meet me at her hotel. When she didn't show I figured she just…"

"You figured what?"

"…That she had stood me up."

The graying Marine unfolded his arms and leaned forward, placing his hands on the chair arms. His face was only inches from the FBI agent in front of him. Hotchner could tell things weren't going to end well if he didn't intervene now. "Agent Gibbs, there was no way he could have known she didn't have her car."

Morgan leaned against the table behind Spencer, hoping his presence behind his friend would make Gibbs go easy. Obviously that wasn't the case. "Why was she out by herself anyway? She knows it isn't safe."

"Are you saying it's her fault?" Tony stared down Agent Morgan, his friendly face hardened into a grim caricature of his normal self.

"Of course not. It just seems strange she'd go out by herself."

Spencer rubbed his eyes, seeing spots behind the lids that were so tightly pressed against his eyes. "She must have felt it was okay, since it wasn't raining. How are we so sure it was him that took her, anyway? Nothing about her vanishing fits the profile."

&&&&

Exhausted, Angie had fallen asleep in the chair, slumped forward with her hair in her face. The man still wouldn't untie her, and slept on the couch so she couldn't get away. She tried negotiating with him, saying things like she wouldn't leave because she loves him, and holding her there was pointless. He wasn't buying any of it, despite his comments about trusting her.

Her wrists woke her up every now and then. She never realized how torn up skin could get from rope. The only times her hands were held behind her back were when she asked for it, and those restraints were soft and furry.

Her skin seared every time she moved, forcing her awake like a vengeful alarm clock. She ground her teeth together, trying to find the best position to sit that was comfortable enough so she wouldn't move. The plan was failing miserably.

"Samuel," she whined (she had learned his name a few hours earlier), "the ropes really hurt." She was disgusted at herself for speaking to him like she was okay, like she didn't mind being there.

Samuel squirmed in his spot, but did not respond. He had grown immune to her pleas to be let go, each time pulling the painful rope bit. Nothing worked.

"Come on. Wake up. What do I have to do to get you to untie me?"

He exhaled sharply and sat up, his face red and lined with the pattern of the couch on one side. His eyes were large and sympathetic, but sparkling with insanity. They were terrifying, sending shivers down Angie's body. She wanted to leave. She wanted Gibbs and Tony to come smashing through the door, guns ready. Gibbs could be unpleasant sometimes, and maybe he was a bit skeptical of probies from time to time (or maybe it was the lawyer thing, she couldn't tell), but he was a great man. Tony as well. He was womanizing and frustrating, but he had a good heart.

Tears formed in her eyes, threatening to burst free. Everything made her so angry. She was exhausted, but in pain, and couldn't help feeling like she was going to die soon. There was no way she could keep up the charade forever, and even if she could, she had no idea what he was going to do to her. He was a serial killer, unpredictable.

He wouldn't be unpredictable to Spencer, she thought. He would be able to predict his every move. Angie closed her eyes, forcing back tears. Forget Gibbs and Tony, or McGee and Ziva back in DC. Thinking of Spencer was even more painful. She hadn't known him for very long, but there was just something about him. They clicked. It was strange. She laughed inwardly at all those times her friends had come to her about men they had met. They all said that something had clicked between them and some guy. She always laughed and told them they were being naïve, and there was no such thing as love at first site. If it wasn't for her parents, she wasn't sure she would have believed in love at all, having never experienced it for herself. But Spencer…

"Are you crying?" Samuel quickly rushed to her side, wiping away a stray tear that had slid down her cheek.

"It's the stupid rope," she insisted. "It hurts."

He smiled gently and kissed her cheek. She had to force down the lump of disgust that built up in her at the feeling of his lips on her cheek. "You never were good at taking much pain, my dove. I'll let you go, but you have to promise not to leave me again."

"I promise!"

His eyes narrowed a bit, but he obliged and cut the rope with a knife he pulled from the drawer next to the sofa. His distrust of her had not yet waned, as he returned himself to his seat and pulled a gun from between the cushions. Angie had planned on running for it, but at the site of the tiny killing machine, she quickly changed her mind.

Samuel leaned back and shut his eyes, the gun clutched in one hand. Angie rubbed at her wrists, glad to see she wasn't bleeding anymore. Not that she had been bleeding too much. There were dark bruises, molded around her wrists in the shape of the rope.

Her eyes scoped the room in the dim light, hoping to spot something she had not seen before. Looking over her shoulder, she noticed her jacket on the floor. Her cell phone had been in it, and she prayed to god it was still there. Silently, she turned in her chair and reached as far as she could, grabbing the hem of one sleeve and slowly dragging it towards her. Frantically she searched through the pockets, but he must have removed the phone. She tossed it back, frustrated by the few options she had.

Angie slumped over, holding back sobs. She was beginning to lose hope. Chances were he'd turned off her phone, and if her team was looking for her, they would be hard pressed to find her.

It looked like Samuel had fallen back asleep. A large bruise was forming on his cheek, where Angie assumed she had hit in when he drugged her on the street. She wanted to pounce on him again and give him a few more, but he had the upper hand in the situation, what with the gun and all. She felt so stupid for not having left in her car, or even her gun.

An hour or so passed, Angie's mind blank. She had been pushing away all thoughts, hoping to make her mind blank enough not to feel anything. Occasionally it worked, and she sat there, numb to everything, but eventually she would be brought painfully back to reality. Each time, her eyes would fill with tears, the skin around her eyes burning and red.

She noticed a drawer in the coffee table slightly open. Earlier she had seen it, but at the time she had been bound, and it didn't look like anything important. But now, it held all her hope. Attempting to be quiet, she stood up and shuffled forward. Her fingers gripped the drawer and pulled a little at a time. Her heart almost exploded when she saw the familiar government-issue cell phone, sitting next to a pen. Frantically she grabbed both, hiding the pen and phone in her bra. She returned to her seat and reached under her shirt, mechanically flipping the phone open and pressing the "off" button until it turned on.

&&&&

McGee sat at his desk, eyes staring at the computer screen in front of him. He was so angry that he wasn't with Gibbs and Tony, especially now that Angie had gone missing. He felt like he wasn't doing any good sitting in DC, going over papers that he knew wouldn't help. Ziva apparently felt the same way, but instead of sitting still, opted to let off some steam at the NCIS gym.

Suddenly, his computer beeped. A small red dot appeared on a map and zoomed in. The computer wiz's heart jumped as Angie's cell phone turned on. Hysterically, he picked up his cell and dialed Gibbs' number, almost screaming into the phone when his boss answered.

"Calm down, McGee," Gibbs commanded. "Repeat."

"Angie's cell phone turned on."

"Address, NOW!"

"She's at 5378 Rochester Street in Chesapeake."

"Good work, McGee," Gibbs replied before the line went dead.

&&&&

Angie felt a lot calmer now that she had her phone. Her captor had still not awoken from his slumber, but she knew it would be just a matter of time. She hoped her team would arrive before he did, partly because she couldn't wait to see the expression on his face when a group of NCIS and FBI agents busted through the door with guns.

Samuel yawned and sat up, looking over at her with a cheesy smile on his face. She couldn't muster up the ability to smile back.

"Did you sleep well?" He asked, standing and making his way over to her. He pushed a strand of hair out of her face, but made sure the gun was still visible to her in his hand.

"Not particularly."

"That's too bad. Tonight we'll sleep in my bed. I just had to make sure you wouldn't leave me again."

"Hmph. And why would I ever do that?" Her tone was sarcastic. She was getting cocky.

His eyes darkened at her words. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

Angie realized she sounded too confidant. She let the fact that she'd turned on her phone blur her judgment. Samuel turned violent, lifting the hand with the gun and slapping her across the face with it. She screamed out in pain, falling to the floor hard. She felt blood gushing from her nose, and her lip was busted open from biting down on it as she fell. Despite the pain, she refused to cry. She'd done enough of that during the night.

Ferocious and with little remorse, Samuel dropped down next to her and wiped away some of the blood. "Don't ever get sarcastic with me," he said through his teeth, holding her face.

Before she could fight him off, he was on top of her, his eyes disturbing. She couldn't believe how quickly he snapped. Though she'd never call him a nice guy, he had been somewhat civilized before. Now the monster in him was rearing its ugly head. She attempted to fight him off, but he was too heavy.

He forced her shirt over her head. She frantically tried to keep it on, more for the fact that she didn't want him to find her cell phone. Her efforts were in vain; it did not take him long to find the small device. He cried out in anger, slapping her across the face again. She struggled to breath, as her nose was still bleeding and blood was seeping down her throat.

She struggled against him and managed to knee him between the legs. He fell over, writing in pain, giving her enough of a chance to run towards the door. Grabbing the doorknob, she turned it, only to realize it was locked. She heard the loud and familiar noise of a gun being fired, followed closely the stinging pain of a bullet grazing her arm. She didn't have time to try and unlock the door, instead diving behind the couch. She heard him get up from the floor.

Swiftly she popped up and sped towards the entrance to the kitchen, her eyes scanning the room for something to use. She grabbed the first thing she thought useful, a large frying pan, and rushed through the closest door to her. It led into a small bathroom, a single window looking outside. She closed the door behind her and tried to open the window, but it was locked, just like the front door. Momentarily she thought of turning around and finding somewhere else to go, but logic told her all the other windows would probably be locked, too. Since there really wasn't any other option, she brought the pan crashing into the glass. It cracked, but did not break.

She brought the pan up to swing again, but the cool feeling of a gun barrel against the back of her head stopped her.


	7. Chapter 7

_Above all things, never be afraid. The enemy who forces you to retreat is himself afraid of you at that very moment._

-Andre Maurois

"You are a liar," Samuel said, running the barrel of his gun from the back of Angie's head down to the small of her back. She trembled, the frying pan still held in midair. "I bring you home." He cut off. "Turn around. I want to look at you before I kill you."

"W-why would you kill me?"

"You're not Virginia. She would never do that to me. She would never fight me."

Angie inhaled sharply, her lungs burning. She messed up and she knew it. If only she had waited for a better time, she could have gotten away without all of this happening.

She turned slowly, the pan clutched protectively to her chest. His eyes were wild and furious, his lips twisted into the most terrifying grimace she had ever seen. Blood stained his white shirt, though she wasn't sure if it was hers or his.

Samuel stuck the gun into his belt, his other hand pulling something black from his pocket. With a swift movement, a blade covered in dried blood sprung out. Angie's eyes settled on it, the world melting away. Her palms almost dropped the pan from shaking.

Something clicked in Angie's head. Everything flashed by, everything she'd be leaving behind if she won. She looked back on college, on El Paso, on joining NCIS. Everything she had ever done would be for nothing, and that was more terrifying than any man with a bloody knife.

She did not speak as she jabbed her heel into his foot, grabbing his gun while he was distracted. The pain did not distract him for long, but the sight of his own gun in his face stopped him in his tracks. Her hands were steadier than they had ever been with her own gun. Adrenaline pulsed through her veins, her breath deep and concentrated. "Listen to me," she said evenly, trying her hardest not to pull the trigger right then. The image of her making out with Spencer popped into her head, followed by her waking up in a strange home. She watched him hit her again in her head, the memories only fueling her anger. She was still scared out of her wits, but she wasn't going to let him win. Gibbs wouldn't let him win. "Either you back away from me and drop the knife, or I pull the trigger.

Whether it was because he was delusional, or because he was so stupid, Samuel began to move forward, the knife out. Without hesitation she shot him, hitting him squarely between the eyes. He fell to the ground, most of the bathroom sprayed with blood and brain matter. Angie dropped the gun, falling to her knees. He was dead. She was okay. Her nose was probably broken, and she would need stitches, but she was alive. Relief should have flooded through her, but it didn't. She simply burst into tears, her entire body quaking from the force of her sobs. The pictures of all those women he killed were so fresh in her mind, and she had almost become one of them. She had almost become another case file, another number on a manila folder. It was all so overwhelming and scary.

A loud noise from somewhere in the house startled her out of her weeping. "FBI," a man's voice called, followed by the shuffle of several feet.

Angie pushed herself off the floor and scrambled out of the room, calling out to Morgan's voice. He was not, however, the first she saw bursting through the kitchen door. Spencer entered frantically, gun out. When he saw her, covered in blood and bruises, he put it back in his holster and ran to her, wrapping his arms around her. She shuddered in his arms, screaming about what had happened and how she had somehow found the courage to kill him. She cried about how she thought she was going to die, and how she was afraid of never seeing her family again.

&&&&

"I'm really sorry about leaving you," Spencer said for the umpteenth time, perched in a chair beside Angie's hospital bed. "I shouldn't have. This is my fault."

"No it's not. I wasn't cautious. I wasn't thinking." Her face was swollen and bruised, and her nose several times its normal size, even beneath bandages. She looked terrible, and she knew it. She wanted to hide beneath the covers and wait until everything went away.

She had been in the hospital for about a day. Though her injuries were not critical in any way, the doctors wanted to keep her overnight to make sure she was okay "in every way." It was obvious they wanted to make sure she didn't have some emotional breakdown.

Spencer had not left her side since they arrived at the house. Even in the ambulance, he stayed there. Neither of them was sure if he didn't leave out of guilt, or because he really cared. Either way, Angie was grateful. It touched her that he cared so much, and it was nice having somebody there to hold her hand every time she lost it.

"God, I feel so pathetic," she said, pressing the good side of her face into Spencer's chest. "I was so weak and helpless. Now it's all over, and I still…" She cut off, biting down on her lip.

"You're not." He ran his fingers through her hair, his other hand stroking her arm. "I know what you feel."

Angie thought back to a conversation she'd had with Tony soon after they had been teamed up with the BAU. He said he'd heard about this team from a friend of his. She knew all about Spencer being held by a lunatic, just as she had been. On their way to the hospital, Spencer tried to tell her bits of the story in hopes of calming her down, though all it managed to do was freak her out more. He eventually quit, realizing just how bad he was at comforting women.

"God," she moaned, tightening her arms around him. "God."

There was a knock at her door, followed by Tony carrying a foam cup of coffee. "They don't have the best coffee here, but I got you a cup anyway. I know you like it super sweet."

She managed to get up a smile and thanked him for the cup. The steaming liquid burned the wound on her upper lip, but not enough that she couldn't appreciate some caffeine. She needed something in her system other than painkillers and emptiness.

"So how are you doing?" He and Gibbs had been at the house, but Gibbs sent him to the hotel to pick up a change of clothes for her.

"As good as I can be. Everybody came by to see how I'm doing, but they left back to the… the… _there_. To do their jobs."

Tony smiled and dropped a backpack on a chair. "I was supposed to grab you a change of clothes, but I wasn't sure what you'd want, so I just emptied your hotel drawer into your bag. Figured you'd be better at picking out your clothing than me."

"Haha. Thanks, Tony."

The older NCIS agent stood there awkwardly for a moment, his eyes traveling between the pair in front of him, before he decided to make his leave. His excuse was that he had to get back to helping Gibbs, but he wasn't fooling anybody. Angie was kind of happy for it, too. She really didn't want to be around anybody but Spencer.

Spencer pulled her closer, resting his chin on the top of her head. She liked being held by somebody, something she had not encountered for quite some time. She had dumped her previous man before moving to DC, and never really had the time to go out looking for another one. There was just something special about Spencer. She had never had that connection with anybody before.

&&&&

Gibbs had all but forced her to take a vacation after returning from the case-gone-wrong, but Angie didn't want to. Sitting at home with nothing to do wasn't exactly her idea of getting better. The only way she was going to move on was if she had things to occupy her time.

About a month or so passed before she started feeling a little normal. She still jumped if someone walked up behind her unexpectedly, and she was still seeing things out of the corner of her eyes, but the nightmares had stopped. Angie had always been a resilient person, so it didn't surprise her or her family to know she was recovering nicely.

She found herself spending a lot of time with Abby down in the lab, watching and learning from the master. At first it wasn't her choice, as Gibbs deliberately gave her assignments that required her to stay in the office while the other team members went to the crime scenes, but she didn't really mind all that much. Plus Abby was a lot of fun to hang around with.

Outside of work, Angie wasn't able to see Spencer as often as she would have liked. She knew from experience that it was probably a good idea, as too much of one person too soon can and usually will lead to a very short relationship. Both of them worked often, and Spencer spent much of the time packed up and gone with the BAU. Angie's cases were generally in DC, and even if her team had to leave, she stayed behind to do whatever was needed at the office.

&&&&

Angie awoke with a start, finding her face pressed into the cushion of her couch. Groggy from her unexpected nap, she stood to answer the annoying phone that had disturbed her much-needed slumber. "Hello?" She answered, unable to hide the exhaustion from her voice.

"Angie!" The voice of her mother propelled itself through the phone. Angie was never sure what caused her mother to speak so loudly into the phone, but it was something her mother had always done. Angie enjoyed teasing her mother about it, saying the reason Mrs. Martinez raised her voice so much was to make sure the person on the other end could hear her without the use of a telephone.

"Hi mom," Angie responded, falling back onto the couch. The front of her robe fell open slightly, but she could care less. It wasn't like anybody else was there to see.

"What are you up to?"

"Watching TV. Got out of the shower not too long ago." She checked the clock to see what time it was. If her memory was right, she had only been asleep for fifteen minutes. No wonder she felt so horribly tired.

"That's nice. Are you going to call your father tomorrow?"

"Yes, yes, I will. I _do_ remember his birthday every now and then."

"Well good."

"Is that all you called about?"

Her mother paused. "No, no. I just wanted to let you know we're having a family reunion in Juarez next month. Your grandmother is ill, and she wants to see everyone."

It was not news to Angie that her _abuela_ was sick, as the old woman had been suffering from breast cancer for over a year. Still, it was disheartening to hear that her grandmother was calling everyone together so abruptly. It meant she knew she didn't have much longer left.

"Have Dad e-mail me everything so I can make arrangements."

Angie ended the conversation with her mother, suddenly very much awake, but just as exhausted as she had been before. Her hair was still wet enough to cling to her back. She got up and grabbed a bottle of lotion out of her bedroom, distracting herself by applying it to her arms and legs. It was a nightly ritual, though every now and then she forgot.

It seemed like she wasn't going to get much alone-time that night when the doorbell rang. Irritated and in a very anti-human mood, Angie stood and went to answer the door. On the other side was no other than Spencer. Quickly she realized she was wearing nothing but a short robe, pulling it tightly around her body. Her cheeks flushed red. "Spencer! What are you doing here?"

"I just, uh, just wanted to stop by and see how you were doing. We haven't spoken much lately."

"I know, I'm sorry." She stepped back and gestured for him to enter. She was beginning to feel extremely self-conscious. He had felt more of her than he was seeing right then, but back at the police station she had been caught up in the moment. Modesty rules didn't apply.

Spencer was feeling just as awkward. A robe shouldn't have been a big deal, but every second or so he had to remind himself not to stare at her legs, and that breasts, even those concealed by cotton fabric, were meant to feed babies, not to be ogled by awkward geniuses.

"So how have you been?" Spencer fidgeted with the strap on his brown bag, his eyes unable to meet hers.

"Good, I guess. Better than a lot of people would be, I guess."

"Awesome, awesome…"

Angie wanted to kick herself for being so hesitant. It was like ever since they got back, they couldn't just be themselves. She wondered if DC had some sort of curse over her so that she couldn't meet a guy and keep him, too. Looking back over their stay in Chesapeake, she mused over what she had done differently that she could do again.

There was always the physical aspect of things, which sounded nice. Or she could just go into the other room and change into something decent, come back out and talk to him like humans, not animals hunting for a mate. She almost laughed at the memory of something Ziva had said regarding the subject of animal mating and humans.

Spencer was really only there because Morgan had all but handcuffed him and forced him to go. It wasn't that he didn't want to see Angie, because he did. He just hated that he was almost as awkward then as the day he had met her, despite everything that had happened in the short time they had known each other. And just when he felt he could be comfortable again, thoughts of their heated make-out session crept back into his head and his shyness returned.

Angie had always been a bit of a romantic daredevil, often pushing her luck in situations with men. Generally they ended well, but there was always that risk that she'd get rejected and labeled the "pushy" or "crazy" woman. Whatever her odds were, she felt that whatever damage could be done had been done, and pretending nothing ever happened was a bad idea.

She summoned up all the courage she had in her and stepped close to Spencer, his eyes widening as she did so. She pushed him gently onto the couch, his lips stammering to create words that he lost as soon as they came to him. Despite his confusion, his brain kicked in and he forgot that he really wasn't all that experienced with women. Thoughtlessly, one hand reached out and pulled the cotton belt from around her waist.


	8. Chapter 8

_"Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within."_

-James Baldwin

The air was warm, and the scent of sweat hung low. Angie's eyes opened slowly, her head resting comfortably on something hot. Lifting herself up, she looked down at Spencer as he slept, his face peaceful. The events of the night before still clung to her. She didn't want to forget them.

The bed was almost completely barren, the covers tossed haphazardly on the floor. She pulled the remaining sheets over her body and lay back down, unwilling to move. It was then she looked at the clock and realized what time it was, letting out a loud yelp. Spencer started, nearly knocking her off the bed as he sat up. "What's wrong?"

"Work," she said, standing up and digging through her dresser.

Spencer looked at the clock and sighed. He stood and pulled the sheets around his waist, still a bit modest. He was amazed how quickly she could put together an outfit, and even more amazed by how quickly she got her makeup done.

"Don't you have to be at work, too?" she asked, combing her curls back and holding them in place with a pink hair tie.

Spencer blinked, then looked at the clock and gasped. He was never one to forget, but with everything that had gone on, work was the furthest thing from his mind. He scrambled around the room with his boxers on, trying to find his clothing. "Where are my pants?"

Angie glanced around, but couldn't find them. "I have no idea. Where did you take them off?"

"What do you mean where did I take them off? You're the one that took them off!"

"You helped!"

He shuffled into the living room and looked around, and eventually found them hidden behind the island between the kitchen and the living room. How they got there, he couldn't remember. He couldn't even remember when his clothes came off, though he definitely remembered her robe falling to the ground.

The memory of kissing Angie goodbye clung to Spencer's lips as he drove to work. He drove automatically, streets passing him without notice. Only when he was actually at work did he snap out of La-La Land. He managed to pull himself together at his desk, a small pile of paperwork sat on his desk, waiting to be finished.

Morgan strode past young Spencer's desk, his eyes on a file in one of his hands, a cup of steaming coffee in the other. The tall, muscular man stopped and turned around, his eyes leaving the papers in the file and settling on the young Dr. Reid.

"Didn't you wear that yesterday?"

The pen in Spencer's hand nearly snapped in half from the force of the agent's grip. He looked up at his co-worker, suddenly wishing he had taken the time to stop at home and change. He should have known one of them would have noticed, and profilers can't go a day without scrutinizing everything everybody did.

"Maybe."

Morgan's lips quickly expanded into a large, toothy grin. His eyes twinkled, the urge to tease his friend growing. "Did _somebody_ get a little action from a certain blonde Mexican?"

"I will not dignify that question with a response."

Garcia hopped over excitedly, her blonde curls bouncing around her shoulders. "Did I hear somebody got action?"

Rapidly the need to get up and quit his job grew in Spencer. He loved his co-workers, he really did, just not when they felt the need to tease him about every little thing he did. Normally he didn't mind, actually. It was refreshing, and he would tease right back. But he did not want his relationship scrutinized the way each of them had of JJ's relationship with her husband. Teasing and smart remarks were one thing, but making the personal lives of their friends their business was another.

It almost felt like karma was kicking him in the butt, as he knew he was guilty of doing the exact thing Morgan and Garcia were doing.

"Like I said, I will not dignify that with a response."

Garcia reached out and ruffled Spencer's hair. "My wittle genius."

Morgan patted his youthful companion on the back, a deep, resonating laugh escaping his chest. "Just make sure you name one of your children after me."

"Why would I do that? And who said I was having children?" Spencer leaned back in his chair, throwing his hands into the air. He was frustrated, yes, but part of him felt like smiling and laughing with the others. Something good was finally happening to him, and his friends were happy _for_ him. He wondered if he was frustrated because he was genuinely frustrated or because he wasn't sure what to make of the situation.

&&&&

Angie strode to her desk with a smile on her face, her eyes roaming in some far off land. Tony noticed, narrowing his eyes curiously. He stared at her for a moment as she sat down, pulling out files from her desk. Glancing over at Ziva, he could tell the Israeli was feeling the same curiosity.

"Good morning, Angie," McGee said cheerfully, plopping down into his seat. "You look happy today."

The young Mexican woman turned her eyes to her co-worker. "Yeah, I am, actually. It's just a good day."

"That's good, given everything that has… happened." McGee coughed, realizing he probably shouldn't have said anything. Angie let it slide. "So why the good mood?"

Angie chose not to answer, smiling and turning to the paperwork on her desk. Ziva could read the look on Angie's face, and strode over. The darker haired woman leaned in close to Angie's ear and said, "Who was it?"

"You don't know him," Angie replied, keeping her voice down just enough that DiNozzo and McGee could not hear her actual words. All they got was the soft hum of her voice, their ears straining to hear what was going on.

"Maybe I do."

"He was on _the_ case with us. FBI."

Ziva was quiet a moment, thinking, then said, "The tall, dark one?" She had met the BAU team only once, but had a knack for remembering faces, especially if said faces were attractive.

"No, the tall… skinny one. Long hair."

"Ooh," Ziva replied, her lips spreading into a grin. It was so nice to have a female co-worker, especially after working for so long with Tony and McGee. Abby was a real treat, but someone more normal was very nice to have around. "Cute, but not my type."

Tony heard this one. "Who isn't your type?"

"Her type does not concern you, DiNozzo," Gibbs commented, striding into the small office area, a steaming cup of black coffee in hand. He did that often, but Angie could still not get used to him appearing seemingly out of nowhere. "Martinez, you have a guest." He nodded over to a woman they had not noticed before. Immediately, each of them knew who she was.

Angie stood and inhaled deeply, as if trying to summon the confidence to speak to this woman. Her hands began to shake, but she steadied them in time to shake the woman's hand. "Angela Martinez," she said, her voice steady but forced as she introduced herself.

"Virginia Gutierrez."

The two women stood staring each other. Angie couldn't help but think it was like looking in a mirror. Virginia was almost the same height, though maybe an inch or so shorter, and her hair was the same shade of blonde. Her roots were just beginning to grow in dark, though Angie's were almost in desperate need of a touch-up. Their skin was almost the same color. They could have been mistaken for twins if one did not take the time to look closely.

After an awkward silence that lasted no more than a minute, but seemed to last forever, Angie asked, "Can I help you?"

"I wanted… I wanted to come and offer an explanation."

"That isn't… um… necessary." Though she said the words to be polite, an explanation was something Angie had been searching for since she returned home. She wanted to know why things had turned out the way they had.

"Yes, yes it is."

Without asking for permission, or even glancing over at Gibbs, Angie placed her hand on Virginia's back and steered her away from the small work space. They walked in silence towards an empty interview room. Once inside, Virginia spoke without waiting for Angie to say anything.

"Samuel wasn't always so crazy. We met in Mexico as children, when our families would visit for the summer holidays. His grandparents lived across the street from mine. Over the years, he became my best friend, and eventually… my fiancé. He was kind, and gentle. He was so against violence, he was vegetarian. He crashed his car into a ditch in attempt to avoid hitting a cat that was crossing the road. Then his parents died in a fire. His father left a cigarette burning in the ashtray next to their bed, and it caught fire to the house. They burned to death before they could be saved." Her voice quivered and broke, but she continued. "After that, it was like something changed in him. Over the next year, he became increasingly violent and paranoid. He would beat me until I had to go to the hospital, but I stayed with him. I knew he was just angry because his parents were dead, and I told myself he would get better. Then he nearly killed me." With shaking hands, Virginia pulled up the sleeve on her right arm, showing Angie the jagged scar across her wrist. "I went for a run without telling him one day, and when I returned, he was furious. He had a knife when I returned. I knew what he was going to do, and picked up the phone to dial nine-one-one. I ran screaming to another room, telling the operator my fiancé was attacking me. He caught up and jerked the phone out of my hand, forcing me to the ground. He slashed my wrist, and as he was going for the next one, the police arrived. He ran away after that. I don't know how he escaped them, but he did." She stopped talking, but Angie didn't know if it was so she could ask questions, or because she lacked the strength to continue.

"When was this?"

"A few weeks before the attack began. When I left, it must have sent him over the edge. He missed me, but he hated me. He loved me, but he wanted me dead. And then you… you came along. I don't know why your attack was different. I don't know how he took you. But he saw you and thought you were me, and I am sorry for that. There is nothing I can do to make up for what happened, but I thought by telling you why he was doing this… maybe it would offer some comfort."

Tears were releasing themselves from the eyes of both women freely, but Angie batted hers away and touched Virginia's shoulder. "It wasn't your fault. He was sick. There was nothing you could have done to have prevented it."

"I know… but I feel so terrible."

Angie embraced the woman that looked so much like her, and part of her felt better for it. She wasn't the only one suffering because of what Samuel had done, and knowing somebody else was torn up because of it offered some comfort.

&&&&

When she arrived home later that day, Angie was surprised to find Spencer waiting next to his car in the parking lot next to her apartment complex. He was carrying flowers, and looked extremely anxious. Her heart swelled when she was the bouquet.

"That woman, Virginia, came by our office today, looking for you. We sent her to NCIS, and I assume she got to you."

Angie nodded. "Yeah, she found me."

Awkwardly, he pushed himself forward and handed her the flowers, his eyes unable to meet her gaze. "I went out and got these for you. I didn't know what else to do."

"They're beautiful, thank you." She lifted the bundle to her face, pressing the soft petals to her skin. They smelled heavenly.

"You want to go to dinner?"

She looked up, her eyes connecting with his. He wanted to run screaming, she could tell, and last night's events didn't help. He _had_ to be the most awkward man she had ever met. It was endearing, and oddly cute. "Now?"

"That was the plan… but if you can't, I totally understand. The chances of you having plans already are high, given that you have a career and you might have just been stopping home to get something, which I should have considered, and I could have called first but I couldn't bring myself to pick up the phone, and Morgan said to just show up because women like it when men are spontaneous, so I left and got the flowers, which I said, and came he—"

Angie placed a finger over his lips to silence him and smiled, warmed by his advances. She could tell he didn't usually go after a woman, so he must have really liked her if he was trying so hard. "I'd love to."


	9. Chapter 9

"A morning-glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books."

-Walt Whitman

Angie hurried back inside her home and grabbed a coat, only to return to an even more nervous Spencer. Part of her was exasperated, because it seemed like no matter how often they interacted, it was just his nature to be awkward and unsure. In an attempt to calm him, she locked the door behind her, turned, and took his hand. His eyes turned down and stared for a moment, but he did seem to relax a little.

"Where do you want to go?"

Angie thought for a moment, pulling him close and wrapping her arms around him. Pressing her cheek against his chest (since he was that much taller than her), she answered, "Let's go on a picnic!"

Spencer pulled away, hands on her hips, and raised an eyebrow. "But it's thirty-five degrees out."

Her smile widened. "Of course. It's the perfect time to go."

"I'm not following…"

With a sigh, Angie pulled him back to her and looked up, her eyes gleaming. She placed her hands on his chest. "Well, we go grab something nice to eat, find a picnic table in a park, cuddle together, enjoy nature. Something tells me you don't get to enjoy the outdoors very often."

"I enjoy the outdoors plenty!"

"When you're not on a case?"

The young doctor was quiet, trying to think of the last time he was outside for fun. When he couldn't, he gave in to her request. "Sure, sure, let's have a picnic." He bent and kissed her, the heat of her skin burning in comparison with the frigid blasts of wind.

"It's not that cold anyway. If there were no wind, it'd be fine." Her hair swept around her face, occasionally hitting Spencer, too. As soft as it was between his fingers, it was prickly like thorns when it hit his skin.

&&&&

The temperature was beginning to decline, but despite everything, Angie seemed to be enjoying it. Spencer wasn't the kind of person that liked the cold, but he tried his best to keep a smile on his face. It helped that she pressed her body against his, popping apple slices into his mouth.

"Isn't it beautiful?" She said, her arms around his torso and beneath his coat.

He couldn't figure out what she was talking about for a moment, but realized her eyes were gazing over the small, steady pond at the center of the park. "I suppose," he said, unable to really find the beauty in everything she pointed out. Perhaps if it had been described in a book…

"You're no fun," she teased, kissing the sensitive skin just below the ear. She felt his body tense up at the gesture, as he always did when she managed to find just the right spot. He seemed quite partial to that area, more than others.

"Aah…" He couldn't quite find anything to say, but felt a little weird about her being so affectionate in a public place, even if they were the only ones there. He'd never dated anyone quite so into PDA. Then again, he hadn't dated that many people. They were usually scared off when he pulled some obscure fact out of his head. Not Angie, though… She seemed to like it.

He blushed at the thought.

"I don't know about you," she said softly, her voice barely audible over the rustling of tree branches, "but I'm really enjoying this."

No response was required. Spencer simply tightened his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. Truth was, despite the fact that it was getting colder and colder by the second, he was enjoying it, too. It had been so long since he'd felt wanted. Best part was, she wouldn't get angry with him if he were gone for a while on a case. He had dated a girl once, for a very short while, that would accuse him of avoiding her when he was on a case. It wasn't a relationship he'd enjoyed too much.

But this one… it seemed different. They'd started off a bit awkward, but in all honesty, Spencer knew he started just about everything off awkwardly.

"You know…" he started, closing his eyes. "I'm sorry about what happened. I should have never let you head back by yourself."

Angie looked up and placed a hand on his mouth. "Don't do this. Let's think about happy things."

With a sigh, Spencer leaned in and kissed her temple. "Want to go see a movie?"

"Hmm… but what?"

"Uh… what do you want to see?"

"…I don't know… I'm not really much of a movie-goer, unless I'm by myself."

Spencer raised an eyebrow quizzically. "Do I want to ask why?"

Innocently, Angie looked up at him, her eyes wide and clear. "'Cause I can't keep my hands to myself."

His face blushed madly at her words, and he decided it was probably a good idea that they didn't see a movie. Messing around was only fun when something could happen afterwards.

"Or… we could go back to my place."

&&&&

The apartment was dark when Spencer pushed open the door, and Angie wasn't surprised to find that, once the lights were on, it fit his personality completely. It was somewhat messy, with papers and books scattered across almost every surface. There wasn't a lot of furniture, and it was sparsely decorated. Mostly what she saw were pictures of friends and family.

"Is this your mother?" She picked up a photo off an end table, shaking a bit of dust off it.

Spencer came up behind her and stared down over her shoulder. "Yes."

"You've never mentioned your mother to me."

He did not reply right away. His mother was a touchy subject, one he barely like to think about himself. "She… she's in Las Vegas." He didn't want to continue. Part of him was scared that Angie would think he was some sort of freak if admitted where his mother really was, and why she was there. Maybe she would think he had the same problem.

"Oh, that's nice. I love Vegas."

"Yeah… It's nice. I don't really see the town when I'm there."

Angie placed the photo back on the table and turned around, meeting his eyes with skepticism. "What? Why? It's so much fun."

"I'm not much of… of a club-goer, I suppose. And I don't really drink, or gamble."

"In other words, boring?" She was joking, but it still stung a little. Angie realized her mistake and took his hand. "I'm kidding. Why don't we go out now?"

"What? No, we have to work tomorrow."

Shrugging, she took one last glance around the apartment and pulled him out of the room.

&&&&

The club was not busy when they arrived, but the night was still young. Spencer was rigid and uncomfortable, and it would have been unbearable without Angie. She found them a booth away from the dance floor (not that the dance floor was busy quite yet), and ordered their drinks. He didn't object, as he wasn't much of a drinker and didn't really care what she got him, since he probably wouldn't finish it anyway.

As the place began to fill up, the young woman dragged him out to the floor and snaked her arms around his neck, pulling him close. Her hips moved against his, but he stood still, unable to bring himself to move. "What's wrong?" She tilted her head to the side, staring up at him with her large, seductive eyes. He gulped.

"I, uh, don't know how to dance."

"What do you mean you don't know how to dance?"

"I mean exactly what I said. I don't know how to dance." He looked away, remembering a time when most of the unit had gone out to a club. He'd had fun discussing Star Trek, but occasionally he glanced over at Morgan. It was like every girl in the bar had her eyes on him (including Garcia), and his hips moved… well, the way hips are supposed to move when dancing. Spencer knew if he even attempted something like that, arms and limbs would be flying everywhere and it would _not _be pretty.

A laugh escaped the lips of the girl whose body was still pressed against his, her hair falling over her face as she giggled. "Oh come on, everybody can dance. You just have to listen to the music."

"That's easy for you to say, since you've had years of dance practice. Plus, statistically, Hispanic women have better rhythm, because as a culture dancing is a bigger form of expression, while in many predominantly Caucasian countries, dancing isn't as highly regarded."

Angie stared up at him for a second, her face blank. Then a smile broke out, and she grabbed hold of his hips and brought him forward. "Experience, shmexperience. You can dance, and I'm going to prove it to you."

"I really don't want to do this." He could feel the sweat forming on his neck. The thought of being forced to dance in front of _people_ was more terrifying than facing off a serial killer with a bomb strapped to his chest. At least he knew how to handle the serial killer, for the most part.

Her chest was pressed against him, hands around his neck. "Oh come on. Just this once. If you still hate it, I'll never make you do it again."

"But—"

"No."

The young Dr. Reid resigned. There was no fighting with a woman whose body was pressed against his and gyrating in a very suggestive manor. "Now listen," Angie said, placing his hands on her hips. She was still moving, but he made sure to stay still. "I want you to close your eyes and listen to the music. Don't move, just listen to it. Find the beat, the rhythm."

He did as he was told. The song was fast and catchy. Some woman was singing about love. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out who it was. It definitely wasn't something he would have picked up on his own. "Okay."

"Now bend your knees a little. No, not that much. There you go, perfect. Press your hips against me and keep your hands on my hips. Not like you're trying to rape me, Spencer. Relax a little."

He wanted to give up and walk away, grab a drink, and sit on the sidelines. He was good at _that_. Being the wallflower was something he did quite well. It worked for him when he forced himself to go to a school dance in high school, and it would work then. Sadly, though, he hadn't had a hot date in high school. He had one now, and she was determined. "I can't do this."

"Yes you can!" She placed her hands on the sides of his face and brought him down to her level, planting a kiss on his lips. That got him to relax a little. "Let's try this again. Knees bent… yes, there you go. Now press your hips against mine. Relax… perfect. Feel the rhythm. Feel the song. Don't just listen to it. Now move."

If he felt awkward before, he was mortified now. He didn't say anything, though, and did as she said. After a minute or so it got easier. It wasn't as embarrassing when everybody else was doing it. He almost didn't know what to do when she turned around and pressed her back to his front, but he soon forgot his troubles. He understood suddenly why Morgan enjoyed dancing and clubbing so much. Attractive women and music are a good combination.

His stupor was shook by the loud sound of a gunshot from inside the club.


	10. Chapter 10

"_I don't know whether war is an interlude during peace, or peace an interlude during war."_

-Georges Clemenceau

_The airport chair was like every other airport chair she'd ever been in. Hard, cold, and uncomfortable. Still, it was almost like the chair was a piece of home, and Angie didn't want to leave it. Her mother sat on one side of her; her father on the other. Both were beaming, sunlight radiating from their skin. Though she too was excited, Angie couldn't help but feel the wait was bittersweet. Soon she'd be on the other side of the country._

_ "We're so proud of you," her father said. She almost burst into tears at those words, as they weren't uttered more than twice in her life. _

_ "Thanks," she blushed, squeezing his hand. Her mother said nothing, but threw her arms around her daughter. "Mom, you're crushing me."_

_ The elder woman released Angie, dabbing her eyes with her scarf. "Sorry, _mijita._"_

_ Angie looked down at her cell phone and sighed. It was time to get on the plane and head out to DC. She'd be starting her job at NCIS in a few days, and she still had to get unpacked. Her apartment was going to be fairly barren for a while, since she opted to sell most of her furniture and buy when she got to DC. _

_ "I'll see you guys for Christmas," she hugged her parents, voice soft and bittersweet._

&&&&

Reid was on top of her before she knew what was happening. For half a second, Angie's mind went to dirty places, but the fear of being caught without her weapon when somebody else had one caught up with her. She patted her sides the way she would on the job, but she was well aware that her weapon was not with her.

"What's going on?" She breathed, unable to see as Spencer was still shielding her. People were screaming, and no more gunshots had gone off, but she knew the situation was not over.

"I don't know. Some guy has a gun."

"Can you see what he's doing?"

Spencer strained his neck to get a better look at the guy, but he refused to move away from his date. He could feel her pushing him off, but he didn't budge. "He's waving the gun around, and he's got some woman by the wrist."

"Spence, get off of me. I can protect myself."

"I know you can. I'm still not moving, not until I know what's going on."

With a huff, Angie tried one last time to push him off. For such a skinny boy, he was heavy. It was cute that he was protecting her like that, but she couldn't help but feel slightly offended. Spencer didn't think she was weak, and she very well knew it, but it was exasperating nonetheless.

A man's voice called out, anger coating each syllable. She assumed the voice was that of the gunman. At first his words were too slurred to make out, but when she listened harder she could understand. He was yelling at the woman with him, calling her a cheat and a liar.

"How did he get that in here?" Spencer lifted himself off of her, but only by a little bit. His body was still hiding her from the man's rage.

"I don't remember a metal detector. The bouncer must not have thought there was a threat. Spencer, please, let me up. Maybe I can negotiate with him."

"No, let me do it. I'm a guy, he's more likely to talk to me."

"Or he could feel threatened."

Spencer wasn't going to argue. In the sternest voice she'd ever heard him use, he commanded her to stay down. She felt him lift himself off of her, and the gunman called out in anger. "Get down," the man slurred. "This is none of your business!"

Angie stared up at Spencer, her heart skipping every other beat. She'd seen Tony shot at, Ziva dodge bullets, and Gibbs stare down his would-be assassin. This was different. They were her co-workers, her friends. Spencer was more. She'd not known him as long, but she cared for him deeply, and it hurt her to see him put himself in harm's way. He did it for his job, and so did she, but it was still hard to see.

"Put the gun down," he began, his hands up. He did not step forward, and his voice was calm. "Let's talk about this."

"Who the hell do you think you are? This ain't about you."

Spencer stepped forward. "I understand that. Why don't you put the gun down and we can talk this over." He looked at the woman, then back at the drunkard. "Did she do something?"

"Damn straight. She's a cheating whore, this one. Came home early today 'cause I was gonna surprise her, but the skank was getting into some _cholo's_ car.I followed her here. Bitch."

The woman, very obviously from the same area, given that she had the same accent, spoke. "Yeah, well, at least Roberto isn't too tired for me. He _listens_ to me."

"Shut up, bitch. He only listens so he can get between your legs."

Reid was quiet for a moment. Angie took this moment to crawl around one of the tables. Out of the corner of his eye, Spencer saw this, and wanted more than anything to tell her to be still. Since he couldn't, he had to trust that she knew what she was doing and distract the offender. "That sounds terrible," he began again, stepping away from Angie to pull attention away from that area. "I know how you feel. You give a girl everything, and she messes around on the side."

The woman, not catching on, took offense to this sentiment. "You skinny little bitch, you ain't got _no_ idea what you talkin' 'bout."

"Shut up," her soon-to-be ex screamed, shaking her. "Let the little man talk."

Angie smiled a little to herself. The exchange would be funny in another circumstance, but for now she was more concerned with getting around the bar. It was only a few feet away, but she had no idea if she would be able to get to it. There was nothing to shield her once she got past the table, so she'd have to get up to make it. If Spencer could distract the man for a second, she might be able to do it. Then again, it could all be in vain if the bartender didn't keep a gun. Since the woman who had been bartending earlier hadn't said a word, there was no way Angie could be sure.

The exchange between the young FBI agent and the _ese_ seemed to be flowing along nicely. If Angie didn't do it now, she would lose the courage to do so. With a quiet prayer to herself, she pushed herself up on her toes, took a deep breath, and in one quick leap was behind the bar.

"What was that?" The _ese_, whose name was revealed to be George, waved his gun around in the direction of the sudden movement.

"I didn't see anything."

George was not very bright, and took Spencer's word for it. They continued woman-bashing, but it was getting clear that Spencer was running out of things to say. He was attempting a conversational approach, but stayed away from his safety statistics. This man was definitely on a path to prison, but not in the way the unsubs Spencer usually chased were. George was not intelligent, and had a very limited vocabulary. If Spencer treated him the way he would a normal unsub, he would just confuse the man and make things worse.

The bartender was pressed up against the shelves beneath the counter, trembling, eyes wide and staring at Angie when she appeared. "Do you have a gun?" she mouthed, forming her fingers into a gun shape and twitching her thumb like she was pulling a trigger. The bartender nodded and pointed at a small box beneath the cash register. Angie crawled over and pulled the box out, slowly and soundlessly. "Why haven't you used it?" Her voice was not above a whisper.

"I-I d-don't know h-how to use one." The young girl, no older than twenty-two, would probably not be returning to work the next day.

It was best, Angie thought, that the bartender did not pull out the gun. If she didn't know how to use it, George would probably kill her. Angie knew how to, though, and very well. Even Gibbs had given her a compliment during a team expedition to the firing range.

After a quick check to make sure the small revolver had bullets, Angie popped up from behind the bar. "Federal Agent, put down the gun." She pointed the revolver straight at him.

Startled, George let go of the woman, but quickly regained composure and pointed the gun at her. The sound of a single gunshot filled the room. George lay on the ground, screaming away in Spanish about the pain in his shoulder. Moments later, the familiar sound of sirens grew louder as the police drew near.

The next hour or so was filled with flashing lights and protocol, but eventually both Spencer and Angie were allowed to leave. Given that they were both special agents, Hotch and Gibbs were called to inform them of what had happened. Both offered to come down, but the offers were turned down. Neither Spencer nor Angie wanted to deal with their bosses.

The drive home was quiet. Not awkward, but exhaustion filled the air. Eventually, Angie sliced open the silence. "What an interesting date this turned out to be."

"Oh yeah. That's the last time you're talking me into clubbing."

"Hush now. I'll still talk you into it, we'll just make sure to have our weapons next time."

Spencer frowned. "If you say so."

She slapped his arm and laughed. "Don't be so serious. It sucks, but nobody got her. Well, except for the gang-banger, but he deserved it. Ugh, I just don't want to go home now."

At the stoplight, he set his eyes on her. "You're free to stay the night with me."

"No, no. After all the trouble I got us into today, I couldn't."

"It's fine if you do. I'd like it."

Angie smiled and planted a kiss on his cheek. "Okay then. I'll stay with you tonight, and head out early to shower and get a change of clothing."

"Or we could just stop by your place first. It's not too far from here."


End file.
